Violets and Violence
by Mushroom Scribe
Summary: Between training sessions in Du Weldenvarden, Eragon is confronted by his greatest mistake; the wayward blessing. Elva has turned out differently than he dreaded, and now she's at his side. Is that a good thing? NOTE: AU, Eragon/Elva; set during Eldest
1. Intrusion

**Violets and Violence**_**  
**__an Inheritance fanfiction, set during Eldest,__by... "Mushroom Scribe"?_

Characters/Settings © Chris Paolini; Story © Author. All rights reserved or something.

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_Chapter One: Intrusion_  
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The dappled light under the canopy of trees in Du Weldenvarden beckoned to Eragon again. More and more as he furthered his training under his master Oromis, he began to feel its draw; peace could be found there, away from Saphira and her designs on Oromis's dragon, away from his jumbled feelings for Arya. Out there, no one could force him to endure training that would cause Durza's scar to tinge, nor dwell on the most grievous error in judgment he'd ever carried out - but he would not think on that today. Nothing could be done, and he could not bear to shred at his own soul over it any longer.

But how could he have been so careless? The sorrow tore at him for a brief eternity. Neither he as a new Rider nor Saphira as a dragon hatchling had the knowledge or experience to execute more than the basest magics. So to presume... ah, but he was breaking his promise to himself. Tomorrow he could uselessly wallow in self-pity. For now, he contented himself to indulge in the wonders of nature.

The glade he found today was beautiful as it was desolate. Exotic flowers of all shapes and colors blossomed there, lichen hung from eaves of mighty pines filtering the light in greens. It was a place of magic; a place he could feel whole at last.

Alas, it was not to be this day. His head swiveled toward the minute sound, and instantly he implemented the training he'd received; his mind reached out in all directions, open scarcely enough to welcome the minds of any insects or wildlife that might be out there. If he came into contact with a more sentient mind, he would sense its presence and little more.

This turned out to be a misstep.

Instantly, he found his consciousness assailed by such a torrent of horrific imagery that he staggered and fell. Lying on the mossy forest floor, hand unable to even claw its way toward Zar'roc, his blade, he curled into a fetal position. Of course his wound began to ache; he'd failed to brace his impact in any way. This on top of the other sensations - oh the agony, the desperate sorrow, wretched and sulfuric - caused his meager supper to burst from his mouth. No constitution could weather this.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he slowly pushed to his elbow; this was all he could manage. As he did, systematically shutting off his mind from all outside forces, he crawled forward a meter or two, hoping to use a hearty trunk to force his feet underneath himself... and instead found himself nose-to-nose with a little girl.

Where on earth did she come from? At first, he thought she must be one of the elves, but he noted the lack of points on her ears and decided this wasn't the case. But those eyes... the deep violet hue was unlike any human he'd ever seen. Certainly she was no dwarf or urgal. Shade? Was this actually a child who'd somehow become a Shade in the first few years of her life?

"I see you do not recognize me, Eragon Shadeslayer," she tittered - and the voice brought all the insufferable pain back upon his heart, gnashing and ripping it apart. The mind within her was no child's. "Perhaps this will help."

The very instant her hand drifted to her forehead, Eragon knew what he would see. There it was, revealed from beneath her messy black fringe: the gedwëy ignasia. This was the poor soul he and Saphira had so recklessly given a blessing.

_"NO!" _he cried out, unable to stop himself.

_"AIGH!"_ she screamed, dropping to hands and knees and clutching at her stomach. So surprised by her reaction was Eragon that his own disappeared as if a candle flame snuffed. "P-please, I'm sorry, but I must beg of you not to!"

"To what?" he inquired, confused. "What's happened? I don't understand."

"Your... your pain," she whispered, panting and snarling. "With you so near, the connection is... it eviscerates... oh, Eragon, you mustn't, not with such..."

Slowly, it crashed down on his shoulders; Oromis had been entirely correct in his assessment. The poor baby had not been shielded from all misery, as he had intended, but instead bore the brunt of everyone else's. That accursed mis-wording! Such a welling surfaced in his heart that she fell again, curling into a ball much the same as he had scant seconds ago.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly, tears rolling down his face. "Honestly, I cannot- what do I do? There must be-"

_"Stop feeling sorry for me!_" she screamed desperately, limbs twitching. "I shall surely expire upon this hour!"

It was more than Eragon could provide for her; seconds elapsed with her shrieks echoing into his bones, which only served to deepen his pity. How to break such a vicious cycle? Steeling his mind, drawing upon his meager experiences with altering his own temperament and focusing his mental fortitude, he shut off all empathy and pretended - forced his mind to fool itself into thinking she was no more than a child throwing a temper tantrum. Fretting over it would only serve to egg her on.

"Thank you," she whispered shakily, still unable to stand. "I... I c-can't endure your remorse for any extended period, or I'll lose the last threads binding me to the realm of the sane."

"Please, don't thank me," he said softly, struggling to keep his mind from straying from its constructed illusion even as he spoke. "I... it is my fault in the first place."

_"HNG,"_ she grunted, twitching. "Shadeslayer, _please,_ try and keep it at bay for the remainder of our conversation!"

"Sorry!" he said, feeling more foolish than depressed for a brief moment. At this, she actually laughed. "Forgive me, I'm... not as well-trained as I ought to be by now."

"Too well do I know." Now she was able to force herself to a sitting position, bare, dirty feet folding under herself. "There is much you must understand; I will be succinct. You are not to blame for your words-"

"But I so thoughtlessly-"

_"NO!"_ she warned, eyelid twitching from the brief flare of sympathy. "No. How quickly you adapt, though." She took a deep breath, and he was struck by how aged her movements seemed, like those of one of the elves or a village elder. "Now you shall listen, and then we may speak about it at length.

"Your curse upon my infant head is something I rejoice within. If only you might fathom how much suffering among others I have ended with my pitiful, disposable life! Had you not placed your half-formed blessing on me, I would likely have died in days and no more would have come of me. Another orphan who faded into oblivion. Perhaps your gift was not the one intended, but it was a gift - a burden I can bear gladly because I understand its purpose. I am more than I ought have been, thanks to you."

Eragon gaped at her. Such wisdom, such compassion... and still, he felt his skin crawling as he looked upon her, at the feral hunger in her purple eyes, the hollow note in the breast of every word. His best description of what he was seeing would have to have been a vile demon, bridled and forced to do the work of angels. "I... I am honored by your words, small one. Even if I cannot agree."

"You-" She paused to clutch at her chest before Eragon could rebuild his defenses. "What you did in Farthen Dûr... it was no malicious act. It was a righteous bestowment upon me. Why would you ever doubt that? I am gladdened to be what I am - to aid others, to be a boon to my people. Never again question this, or look back in regret at your blessing. Learn from your miscalculation, but do not dwell."

"Oh..." The more she spoke, the more he wanted to flee in terror from this unholy cur, but at the same time he felt drawn to her, to protect and foster her into safety and peace. The person inside the vessel was noble, even if tormented beyond recognition as a human being. Moreover, her words to ease his suffering, though at first he had railed against the very idea, stripped away all misgivings he had about his past actions and brought him to a juncture where he could accept his error as something that cannot be changed. This, as he knew, was her power and lot in life... but she was no less virtuous for utilizing it toward his benefit. When he placed a trembling hand to her cheek, she leaned into it, closing her eyes; this gave him some momentary relief, and the calm within him deepened. "I would know your name, Cursed-By-Blessing."

"Elva," she told him, providing no further embellishment. "It is a footnote in your history, yet you would be aware."

"Why are you here in Du Weldenvarden, Elva?"

"For you," she said, as if he should have known that. "To be with you. I am as much a part of you as Saphira now; we are branded with the same sigil by the same dragon. Linked forevermore."

That frightened him, more than most of his training, more than facing down a Shade. The child spoke as if to court and marry him, no matter that she was scarcely old enough to walk. "I..."

"Do not fret," she said with a knowing smile. "I'm well aware of where your heart lies, and it is nearby in Ellesméra. Still, if ever you grow weary of waiting for her... on a lonely eve..."

"P-please," he told her frantically, "you mustn't speak of such matters, young one!"

"I could be older for you," she urged, eyes hungrier than he'd yet seen them. "Within days, I could match your age. Look at how many years I've circumvented since you blessed me!"

"Cease this!" he shouted. "It is improper, and I- and I shall consider it no more!"

"Hush," she bade him, finger at her lips. She was still smiling. "I understand. I am not an ignoramus. Despite our conversation thus far, have you yet to grasp that I am no ordinary fledgling human?"

He nodded, swallowing to hopefully coat his dried-out voice. "That much is clear, but even so... I'm unwilling to even entertain the notion. Say you'll not raise it again."

"I'll not," she promised.

"Good." For a long moment, they regarded each other; the desire she'd shown for him had grown from nonexistent to raging in the span of seconds, then vanished without trace. Now that he had mostly relinquished his pity for her and his sorrow over what he'd done to make her this way, she was mostly at ease, sitting back on her feet and calmly observing him and the surrounding forest alternately. "I... I have something for you, if you desire it."

Her reply was mild - amused, even. "Oh?"

"But... I'm not sure what it might do."

"You needn't attempt it," she told him wearily.

"What? Then you- you already know what I was going to do."

"Aye."

_"Werg!"_ he cursed in Dwarvish. "Then what is the point of it all?"

"Careful," she said in shaky tones. "I was just beginning to enjoy the peace and quiet."

"Very well," he whispered, mastering himself once more; Elva stilled. "Then... would it be allright if I attempt...?"

"Only because I know it will make you feel better," she said, amused yet again.

Slowly, as if worried she would attack or dissipate if he made any sudden moves, he unfurled a scroll that he'd hidden in his tunic. She waited patiently, a coy smile playing at her lips as he whispered the ancient language, invoked the words he'd painstakingly chosen. Nights of tireless research had gone into this, and he'd be thrice-damned if he fouled it up now. When at long last he had finished, he felt such a rush of magic leaving his body that he fell backward, dazed.

"Oh!" she gasped, hand reaching out for him involuntarily. "Eragon, are you-"

"I am fine." Slowly, he peeled himself from the forest floor. "My question is... how are you?"

All at once, he dropped his mental barriers, and felt such a relief to be plunged headfirst into the sympathy he'd been walling up in there. This poor, accursed creature! How could anyone have borne such atrocity? He ought to be hanged for what he'd done for her - hanged, drawn and quartered and roasted, all while still alive!

And she merely blinked at him. All of his sympathy vanished, replaced by triumph.

"I did it!" he crowed, sweat pouring off of him in buckets as he fell back once more, unable to move. "Gods... I knew it would work, it had to."

"As did I." He turned his head slightly to observe large, glistening tears falling from her haunting eyes. "But I wouldn't have dared asked it of you, nor welcomed it. You've taken my power from me, repeating your previous action; both blessing me and cursing me. Now I will be as useless to the Varden as a lame steed, but... but you have eased my suffering. This is my first moment since my birth... that I have... that I have felt whole."

She buried her face in the crook of his arm, and he held her there, not knowing what else to do. After a time, he whispered, "I... I don't understand... it did work, and yet... you have not changed."

"I have!" she sobbed, clutching at his chest. "I have changed, I... I can feel my own sorrows now, and all others do not impale me without my consent. Never has sadness felt so exquisite now that I control what I do and do not mourn!"

"But I... I thought by removing my curse that I might... that you would perhaps become-"

"Normal?" she scoffed, even through her tears. "A foolish dream. I adore you for it, ever so much, but... that ship has long sailed, Eragon. I am Elva Cursed-By-Blessing until my time comes. But now, at last, I am not a slave to others' misfortune."

"No," he said, crying himself. "Then... then it didn't work, and all was for naught. Blast!"

Elva pushed herself up and kissed him on the cheek - which nearly caused him to retch again. "Poor, simple Eragon. Lifting my curse could in no way erase what has already transpired, don't you see? I have endured much, been changed, become something... something even I cannot comprehend. This is true and real, and will never alter or diminish. But the insanity that rapidly approached me will now cease its advance, because I can shut out the minds of others. It is a gift for which you have my deepest gratitude - _even if," _she began loudly when she felt him tensing, "even if your gift was only to mend your initial mistake. I still thank you for finding your way to do so."

As she continued to speak, something changed within her voice. It still haunted and unsettled, hearing such weary wisdom from one so young, but the ravenous need and desperation had faded to a mere speck in the face of what it had been. Perhaps he had truly lessened the evil he'd perpetrated upon her back at Tronjheim.

"What will become of you now, Elva?" he asked her quietly. "Now that... you are no longer blessed."

"But you did bless me." When he frowned at her, she smiled again. "Or Saphira did. Your spell to shield others from sadness may have lifted, but I remain dragon-marked, and mentally enlightened from my experiences."

"Oh, Elva..."

"You despise what I am."

He considered lying, but somehow couldn't bring himself to that point. "Yes."

"Which proves we are more closely linked than I thought. I despise what I am. Learned as I have become in such an accelerated period, I understand that I am a strange abomination, and I detest it because others have detested it. Abhor and scorn me if you will, even as you continue to feel pity. It's understandable."

Instantly, his arms were wrapping around her small head and thin shoulders, holding him to his breast. "No! No, I... I cannot hate you. You are beyond hatred."

"Eragon," she sighed into his chest; when she felt him tense, she chuckled. "Still so nervous around the topic of women and relationships with them. What are we to do with you?"

"Who said anyth-"

"You tense merely because a female says your name with the tiniest hint of emotion behind it. What would become of you if one of them actually made to woo?"

His cheeks began to grow red with embarrassment as he pushed her away roughly. "A pox on you for such callous words!"

"Again, and so soon?" Instantly horrified, he sat upright to apologize but found her laughing. "Your apology should be mine for making a joke in such poor taste. Our wounds must heal more fully before light can be made of the past."

For the first time since meeting this strange being, a grin split Eragon's face. "Perhaps. But I'm not sure that day shall ever come."

"You smile upon me," she said quietly. Now when she smiled, there was less cynicism or hidden agendas, and he was struck by how much more she looked like a normal child - even if only for an instant. "Only you among the many who would not. It warms my heart."

"Which, in turn, warms mine." After a moment's pleasant silence, he said, "But you haven't answered my question. What shall you do now?"

"I would be with you," she answered immediately - and then sighed when she noticed his apprehension. "Yes, it is an unappealing notion for you, I can imagine. But I cannot deny it's my first instinct. You blessed me and gave me purpose, even if only briefly. Through Saphira and the silver mark, our fates are hopelessly intertwined. Where else could I go but to your side?"

"I... no," he said immediately. "No, this is... you ought to return to the Varden. There, you can be safe, and-"

"And what? Sit on my laurels? Play with the other children and have them inquire as to my unnatural eye color?" She shook her head. "A chance at a carefree life is no longer mine to attempt. I am changed. I would go where I can be of the most use."

"Perhaps that is still with the Varden," he said slowly, thinking. "I admit you may not find much pleasure in the company of your... _peers_," he said, placing emphasis on the word to convey that he meant those of her apparent age. "But what of Nasuada? She could use your council; you can understand so much of others through their fears and sorrows, I would wager."

"She loathes me," Elva told him flatly. "Partly because of me... partly because she distrusts magic to begin with. Any aid I might render would be met with every opposition beforehand."

"How... how did you even come to be here?" he asked her baldly, glancing around. "Caravan? What could manage to purvey one so tiny all the way through Du Weldenvarden?"

Elva's face became something between embarrassed and yet more despairing. "I am unsure myself - because it was magic, which is a force I wield without expertise. Only... because it is you, Eragon, I..."

"What?"

"Your sorrow, once you realized what you had done to me," she told him, tears welling up again. For a moment, she reached up and touched them, fingers playing across the wetness as if it were made of gold. "It was like a beacon. Because you had blessed me in the first place, your sorrow greatest of all played upon my blessing. And being that yours was as a direct result of my existence..."

"You felt called to me?" he ventured, and she nodded. "And then?"

"And then I was in this clearing," she whispered. "The rest is as unclear to me as it is to you, be certain - all I am sure of is that I was led directly to your side by our bond through the gedwëy ignasia and your sympathies toward my plight. It was... magnetic."

"Well, one thing is for sure," he said decidedly as he pushed to his feet. "You shall be accompanying me back to Ellesméra. The dead of forest is no place for one so-" He stopped short of saying "young" and changed his mind. "One so small."

"I agree," she said nervously. "Except... from what I've gleaned from you and others, this is a city of elves, correct?"

"Aye."

"Then... I shall not be welcome," she fretted, panting with sudden fear. "I... we are both in danger now, for you have brought an unauthorized human to a sacred land. I must go."

"How shall you go?" he inquired with some amusement of his own now. "Leap through the ether into Surda, back the way you came?"

"That would be ideal if I had the faintest idea how I had to begin with," she grunted. "But in absence of this, you might call Saphira to us and fly me there."

"I cannot," he said helplessly. "Until my training is complete, I... I am bound to the elves and this forest. As is Saphira."

"It is so," she sighed, placing a hand on his knee. Only with this action did Eragon suddenly find it unsettling how much taller he was than the youngling who spoke with more weight and age than he. "Then... I shall wait patiently in this glade until I am eaten by the first beast who happens upon me."

_"ELVA!"_

"There aren't many more options, I'm afraid," she said morosely.

"I won't hear of it!" he snapped, impulsively picking her up from the forest floor and holding her to his chest. The action was simple, like carrying any other small child - yet they both tensed and held their breath. "I..."

"So meretricious," she teased him, and he nearly dropped her - but steadied his hand. Her voice softened, filled with affection. "Eragon... thank you."

"For what? I've done little but make your life a maelstrom of evil."

"You've cared for me in a way few would," she insisted, laying her head upon his shoulder. "In fact, there is none other. I sense it in you."

"Sense it?"

"My magic remains. It is within my control, but one does not endure bombardment from every member of the Varden for countless days without learning the inner workings of the mortal mind. I... it comes with some difficulty, and goes when I wish it. This latter aspect is my new favorite," she confided in him.

"Given what you've been through, I can appreciate that." He heaved a deep sigh, then strengthened his hold on the tiny, dragon-marked magician. "Off we go to the elves. Nothing else can be done; we'll merely accept whatever choice they make. I'll not leave you to the wolves."

"Be it on your head," she replied glumly. "If you should change your mind, the nearest hollow log will do."

_"Elva!"_

But she giggled as he began running through the woods. After a few minutes, they stopped and she shifted around to his back, and Elva - unlike most children - strove to clasp her hands down near his pectorals instead of around his neck, which cuts off the breath needed for life and its heavier exertions. As they ran, he glanced down at her dirty feet and wrinkled his nose. "When's the last time you bathed?"

"Bathed? What is... ahh, that ritual in which a fool immerses themselves in water." Her distaste was clear. "Silly waste of time."

"I assure you, it isn't."

"Then you bathe me and prove your opinion to be factual."

Normally he would have agreed, but the adult mind inside her body upset him. "I should think not! I'll ask Arya to instruct you."

"Perhaps the three of us...?"

_"ELVA!"_

"It's quickly becoming your refrain," she observed bemusedly. "Elva, Elva! In the dead of night, even, I expect your neighbors shall soon hear-"

"Enough!"

But her peal of laughter delighted him, even as he cringed at her flirtatious nature. He'd succeeded; he'd mended his greatest mistake. Perhaps it was too late to undo every scrap of damage inflicted upon the poor girl, but she was at least moderately better off now than she had been the day previous. It was something to be celebrated in a time when precious little called for celebration.

_**-o-o-o-o-o-**_  
_To Be Continued..._

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NOTE TIME: I was just reading Eldest and I was struck by how incredibly tragic the idea of Elva is; she has to feel everybody else's pain? Terrible... but terribly interesting. It's set during the latter half of Book Two in the weeks leading up to the Blood-Oath Celebration. That makes it really AU, I know, but I'm trying something and having fun with it.


	2. Asylum

Important note: Okay so it looks like there's more coming. We'll see where it goes I guess!

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_Violets and Violence - Chapter Two: Asylum_  
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The sun was setting by the time Eragon and his unlikely companion reached the Crags of Tel'naeír. His first instinct would have been to bring her directly to Queen Islanzadí herself, but he worried what would become of one tiny human female in the midst of their mighty council. The elves guarded their cities and secrecy with grim determination, which would seem at odds with the merry, carefree lifestyle they enjoyed if it weren't the very reason they could enjoy it. Therefore, he aimed to seek advice from one of those few beings who knew of his horrific mistake: Oromis.

The man also known as Togira Ikonoka and Osthato Chetowä was standing outside his hut, practicing the Rimgar. Eragon had scarcely a moment to wonder at the uncanny speed and dexterity with which his master moved (would he ever be able to perform it with such grace?) before he ceased. "What brings you?" he said before he'd fully turned, having already sensed his pupil's approach. "Our training for the day is..."

His words died on his lips as he spied the small head peeking over Eragon's shoulder. No one spoke for a time, until Eragon cleared his throat and said, "Ebrithil, this is Elva. She is-"

"The one you cursed," he breathed, eyes widening further. In the meantime, Elva hopped down and stretched her limbs after the long ride through the woods on his back. "This... but you gave me the impression she was but a babe."

Eragon suppressed a fresh shudder. "She was."

"Begging your pardon, sir," Elva said with a sweeping bow, touching two fingers to her lips. "Elva Shiningbrow. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

Oromis recoiled upon hearing the maturity in her young voice, visibly dumbstruck. Then he took a deep breath and released it slowly, repeating Elva's gesture and answering her salutation in kind. "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr. Tell me, how does one so young know our ancient language?"

"I don't," she said with some amusement. "I'm lifting the cultural pleasantries from Eragon's mind as I go along."

The moment she spoke this, Eragon was able to feel the tiny tendril writhing along the floors of his mental pathways. As soon as he reached out to banish it, the probe receded of its own volition. Outside his own mind, Elva chuckled.

"Shouldn't leave yourself so unguarded."

"I have been working on that," Oromis muttered, though he remained wary of this new visitor. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company today, Elva Shiningbrow?"

"Young Shadeslayer had need of my presence," she said, and both men raised eyebrows at her referring to anyone as "young" given her own age. "I'm afraid learning of the truth regarding his blessing... upset him profoundly. Given my lot in life, I was compelled."

A quick nod as Oromis stalked toward the side of his hut, where he could lean against it to save his weary legs and ailing body. "Compelled. Then you _are _forced by the hand of gramarye to assist those in suffering."

"I was."

"Was?" When he shifted his gaze to his human student, an idea was already rearranging his features into stern disapproval. "Oh, Eragon, you injudicious- what did you do to her _this _time?"

"Here," he said meekly, handing over the scroll upon which he'd constructed the spell with which to release the harrowing geas from Elva's shoulders. It was a long minute as his master studied it, silently mouthing the words and pondering the structure.

"I shan't claim I am pleased with this foolhardy patchwork magic, but at the very least I see you did nothing worse than erode your previous curse. This was a very stupid thing to do, Eragon - you are still an apprentice."

"Yes, Master."

"On the other hand, I did insist you help should she ever have need," he admitted unenthusiastically. "And I also informed you of the possibility to lift the blessing once placed. Dare not blame the student when the master is at fault."

"I am sorry to have shamed you, Master," he said, bowing low.

"That will be enough of that." Again he scrutinized the writing on the paper, then looked up at Elva. "Yes. Can we assume that this merely placed control of the magic into your own hands?"

"It did."

He nodded. "Very well. It was too much to hope for a release of all the... 'wisdom' you gained while under the blessing, or for you to revert to an infant and resume your natural growth. But, at the very least, you no longer suffer?"

"No... but you do."

There was a spark of irritation behind Oromis's eyes as he plucked Elva's probing finger of magic from his mind - and then Elva stumbled backward, gasping and shivering.

"Young one, do remember your manners," he said, reprimanding her with far more kindness than Eragon would have. "It's impolite to burgle another's innermost thoughts - and unwise when they are a Rider."

"He _BIT _me!" she hissed, violet eyes aglow. "He bit down on my thoughts, my - it _still _hurts!"

Oromis allowed himself a slight smile. "The problem with invading another's mind so brazenly is that you leave yourself open to counterattack. With Eragon, he is not learned enough to respond as quickly; with mortal men, they aren't learned at all in the arcane and shall rarely sense your presence. Take care that you do not choose a target of higher skill."

Elva did not speak but nodded curtly, pressing tiny fingers to her temple.

"I shall admit, though I am loathe to... I did not sense you until I was made aware, and I'm far removed from a novice. What a unique brand of magic."

"There is little about me that is common," Elva said with a mysterious note beneath her words.

"Master," Eragon interrupted, "I wonder... what might be done for her? Apparently, the magic brought her to me, but she has no way of sending herself home. Is there-"

"I'm not taking on any new students," he said bemusedly. "Especially not those with no dragon of their own. But I can guess at your worry; what to do with this errant human in our midst?"

"I would stay by Eragon's side," she answered immediately.

"At the very least, I don't want her turned out into the wilderness," Eragon sighed, still uncomfortable at the idea of having such an abomination of humanity following him around. "Staying here, back to the Varden... as long as she's kept safe in one way or another."

"No, no, perish it; she won't be abandoned." Oromis stroked his chin. "Hmm. This is a conundrum, but I believe you would be best suited bringing the matter to the Queen herself. She'll be much more empathetic and open to alternative solutions should she find out firsthand from you and the child."

"The 'child' wishes to stay by his side," Elva reiterated with a touch of ire. "Even if she's being discussed as if absent."

"Be that as it may," he said, addressing her directly this time, "you're human. The sole reason Eragon is allowed to take up temporary residence within our borders is because he is dragon-marked. Then again, so are you. But what does it mean?"

"Search me," she muttered.

"If we had the answer to that question, all would be clearer, but ah... alas. Saphira, as with most dragons, weaves gramarye without knowing how or why she does. From what I gather, you have been using it similarly. Therefore, she has no clearer understanding of how you came to bear a mark so usually reserved for those joined with dragons than I or Eragon - nevermind its implications."

"That rock beneath your heel has a clearer understanding of it than Eragon," Elva joked. When Eragon objected, she merely giggled, and he was forced to fume silently; what else could he do, draw his sword upon a tiny, unarmed child?

"Quite the conundrum indeed." Minutes drifted by. Eragon waited patiently, as he was quite accustomed to doing, but Elva shifted from foot to foot, then padded inside the house. She had just returned, popping several berries into her mouth at a time when Oromis said, "Right, then."

"Hmnag?" she asked around a mouthful.

"The only solution I could reach is that I must accompany you to meet with Queen Islanzadí. Being that I am fully apprised of the situation, and also one of their own, yet a Rider... I may be able to protect Shiningbrow-elda from some of the reactions we might be most unfortunate to encounter among the lords and ladies. With varying success."

"Varying is better than naught," Eragon said hopelessly.

"You would intercede... on my behalf?" Elva said gratefully, but not without a hint of suspicion. "Why?"

"Because," he sighed as strode toward the edge of the woods, "Eragon-finiarel is under my tutelage, and as such, my responsibility. Granted, this was not the case when he thought himself mighty enough to use his pitiful vocabulary to give a blessing-" and here Eragon wilted "-but be that as it may, if I were to have insisted he begin his instruction earlier, as soon as Brom was slain, we might have avoided this whole catastrophe."

Then he called to one of the small elf-bred stallions and bade Eragon do the same with Folkvír, the steed he'd first been given to guide him through Du Weldenvarden. Elva slid onto the horse in front of him, and he blanched as she intentionally pressed her form backward into his.

"What's the matter, Shadeslayer?" she whispered without turning. "Scared you'll enjoy the ride more than you ought?"

"Hold your tongue," he murmured, and she cackled. It seemed everything she did nauseated him... but then again, it was his doing that she had turned out so unbearably dark for a crusader of light.

"Must you tease him?" Oromis said, though his voice betrayed he was equally disgusted by her actions and amused by Eragon's reactions. "Let us away, we have tarried overlong. Gánga fram."

Off they rode, slipping between trees like mercury. Elva did not find her way to widening the distance between them on the horse's back, and Eragon confessed himself grateful for her scant warmth; it was unseasonably chill beneath the ceiling of branches now that the sun had vanished. Still, he would have preferred his hands to be gently encircling Arya's waist rather than hers...

"If I must hold my tongue, you should mind your mind," she admonished. Instantly, he felt the bit of hers whiplashing as it withdrew from his own, and he cursed his inattentiveness. "Thinking of that elf vixen while you're with me - for shame!" She briefly turned to one side so he might see her satisfied grin, and his blood ran cold; what else had she discovered during her trips into his skull?

"Perhaps Shiningbrow's presence will be beneficial after all," Oromis commented drily. "You'll certainly gain a heightened awareness of when your consciousness is being intruded upon."

"Aye," he gusted, and Elva cackled again.

As they reached the city, skirting the edge so as not to attract attention to themselves, he became aware of Saphira's attempts to contact him; how long had he been deaf to her voice? Careful to keep watch for another of Elva's mental assaults, he answered.

_Where have you been, little one? I assumed your walk would not keep you past sunset._

_There has been a... complication._ He quickly informed her of the evening's strange events, concluding with their trek to seek an audience with the Queen. _I knew not what else to do, she... this is my fault. Isn't it my duty to see to her well-being?_

_It is,_ she admitted. _And mine. Shall I meet you?_

_That may be for the best; we are both at fault. Saphira, I am afraid._

_Afraid that she'll be driven into Du Weldenvarden... or afraid that she'll remain at your side?_

_Both, and equally. She is... I hesitate to use the word 'monster', but I can think of none better. What have I wrought?_

Saphira had no answer to that.

At last, they came upon Tialdarí Hall; Saphira was waiting patiently by the arched gate, politely ignoring the open stares and radiant smiles of the elves delighted to bask in a dragon's glory. They dismounted, and Eragon dismissed his mount while his master asked his own to stay to ensure return passage to his home. Eragon suspected that Oromis could have spoken the chant to unhinge the gates, but he instead informed a guard of their request for audience and waited. Not long passed before they were admitted. Beyond the flowerbeds they walked, down wooded halls and past countless elves who greeted Saphira and Oromis, few of whom nodded to Eragon; he was growing used to this. However, all of them seemed confused when they set eyes upon the small girl in their company. Eventually, when an elf-maid gasped, Eragon remembered how rare children were among these people of such longevity.

"We near our destination," Oromis said in hushed tones. "Eragon-finiarel, I would suggest you speak only when spoken to; this may or may not be a delicate matter. I cannot predict the mindsets of other elves in this, for there is no precedent for a dragonless dragon-marked being, human or otherwise. Let us hope we are all quick-witted enough to avoid bungling her fate."

"Should I also be seen and not heard?" Elva said with some distaste.

"As normal children are?" he guessed with a tight smile. "You are perhaps an uncommon youth, Shiningbrow, but take care to remember you're still meeting with the leader of the elves. A quick and sharp tongue may be your own downfall."

"Duly noted."

_I don't think I like her, _Saphira told Eragon privately.

_I'm not surprised,_ Elva told them through the bond with an air of resignation. Both dragon and Rider scrambled to solidify their defenses, but she was already withdrawn, laughing under her breath.

_Now I'm sure of it,_ Saphira seethed. _Wretched cur._

_Our fault, _he reminded her, but she didn't respond.

"Good eve," Islanzadí announced as they entered the open pavilion, resplendent in her fiery red tunic and velvet cloak. Never had Eragon observed her looking any less regal. Briefly, Eragon noted Arya's presence at the queen's right hand - and the confounded expression on her fair features - but he forced himself to ignore that for the time being. No other lords had been assembled; perhaps that was to their advantage. "Welcome, Argetlam, Saphira. What brings you?"

Eragon knelt, twisting his hand over his breast. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Your Majesty." Oromis and Elva repeated the gesture and phrase, while Saphira merely inclined her great head.

"Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," she said pleasantly, then waved a hand. "Enough ceremony; it seems there is an urgent matter?"

"I'm afraid there is," Oromis began - but was overridden as she set eyes upon the girl.

"A child," she breathed. "The guards had mentioned... from whence?"

"The Varden," Oromis informed her. "It is an... unprecedented tale."

"What might your name be, young one?" she said kindly, but Eragon couldn't help but feel a sense of dread; she was speaking as if to a child. Why shouldn't she, after all?

"It might be anything," Elva told her cryptically. Suddenly she flinched, and by the brief flare of magic he felt in the air he was sure Oromis had telepathically berated her. "But I am called both Elva and Shiningbrow, Majesty."

The wonder and awe on Islanzadí's face was quickly replaced by horror. Unable to stop herself, she muttered, "Something is wrong. I sense a great sorrow here - nay, not sorrow. Darkness. Blackness, as the world beneath a new moon."

"I do apologize," Elva whispered, just loud enough for all gathered to hear. "If I were you, I'd regret meeting me as well."

Before the queen could further insult Elva to her face, Oromis hurried ahead with his explanations, starting from Eragon's fumbling anointment and Saphira's impossible bestowment of a second mark, then progressing to her rapid aging with some additional notation from Elva herself. Both Islanzadí and Arya bore expressions of ill-hidden shock throughout the tale, which worsened when she described the ways in which the spellwork forced her to comply.

"Which is why I spent so much time eating," she finished quietly, ashamedly.

Both Eragon and Islanzadí had hands pressed to mouths in open attempts to keep their stomachs from purging in response. Oromis merely bowed his head, and Arya looked away, a deep sadness about her eyes. Saphira snorted twin jets of flame, violently regretful of her own role in the girl's adversity rather than disturbed about the consequences.

Hurrying the story along so as not to dwell too deeply, Oromis and Eragon detailed her unexpected arrival in Du Weldenvarden and Eragon's attempt to better her situation and his limited success. While neither Arya nor Saphira reacted, Islanzadí breathed a shaky sigh when she learned of this.

"Perhaps it is not a full reversal of fortune, but... I am pleased something could be done, however much." She passed a hand nervously over her hair, then composed herself as she inwardly fit all the pieces of the tale into place. "I can see why you might bring this matter to my attention; I have never heard of such strange twists in one's fate. Unfortunately, I have no sounder idea of what can be done for her than any of you."

"I would stay by Eragon's side," Elva told her immediately. Eragon began to wonder if she merely liked the sound of the phrase.

"Would you? I should think there are myriad places you'd rather be than with the one who inadvertantly cursed you."

"You misunderstand." Her voice became choked with emotion once more, as in the forest clearing. "He's the one who saw fit to bless me, then saw fit to amend his blessing once he discovered the flaw in it. Me, a waste of flesh in an overcrowded camp of rebels. Whether or not I turned out the way he envisioned is academic; I owe everything to him."

Eragon felt clammy and sick. Was she so blindly devoted to the one who had damned her? He loathed what she had become, and loathed himself for setting her perverse evolution in motion. Yet she had all but sworn fealty to him. Had she become so warped that she felt affection for the exact opposite of those whom she ought?

"I see," Islanzadí said reluctantly. When she cast a glance over toward her daughter, the latter merely raised an eyebrow, deferring to her mother's wisdom. "As queen of the elves, you have put me in an awkward spot, haven't you? We are vehemently opposed to ordinary humans being allowed to live in Ellesméra. You are hardly ordinary, but woefully human."

"Mm," said Elva in agreement, clearly impatient for the queen to get to the point.

"The decision I have reached is that you may share quarters with Shadeslayer and Brightscales."

_"WHAT?"_ Eragon burst out, forgetting himself. Then he cleared his throat and continued in a more respectful tone, "Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but... surely Elva could be granted her own room somewhere else, couldn't she? Perhaps-"

"I'm afraid not." Islanzadí directed her shewd gaze first at Elva, then at Oromis before returning it to Eragon. "While your worth and honor is accepted as true and without question, Shur'tugal, perhaps you should not forget that it is because of your station. Elva is merely a girl with a glowing forehead; we've no idea of the extent of her powers or where her loyalties might lay, and no preexisting standard with which to compare her. To reject her out of hand would be folly, but to accept her with open arms before she has proven herself is equally shortsighted. Therefore, I would deem it wisest to place her in your stead. There, she may be watched at all times by one who bears the same mark as she. Bring her with you to your training sessions to observe - and BE observed. We'll see what comes of this, and to that end I place the responsibility of judgment upon the Mourning Sage."

_Wonderful, _Saphira commented directly to Eragon, her tone scornful.

"I'll be ever vigilant, Majesty," Oromis said quietly as he bowed.

"As will I," Eragon echoed clumsily, hastening to bow as well. Though he did not so readily accept this decree, he knew he had already spoken out of turn when he challenged her the first time and dared not do it again.

"See that you are." Then a crease formed between her eyebrows. "I'm sure this added distraction will not speed your training, but it is the only rational end I can reach. If it comes to light that another arrangement might be wisest, we'll revisit the issue."

Clearly dismissed, they filed through the covered walkway and down the halls, Arya hastening to take up the rear; apparently she had more to discuss away from the presence of the crown.

"I feel ill at ease with this," she said in low tones as they walked. "No matter blessings, or what she can and cannot sense, but... traversing from Surda to Du Weldenvarden? Magically transmitting objects is a risky art that requires much planning and skill, and remains hazardous even during a best case scenario. But it is literally _impossible _to transmit a living being, and especially not oneself!"

"Jealous?"

This single word from Elva immediately turned Arya's countenance to stone. "Your tongue is forked, small one. Watch it so that I do not cut it free of your head."

With no forewarning, Elva stuck it out at her, causing everyone to flinch at the immature display. Then she grinned from ear to ear and said, "See? It isn't so forked as you had guessed, now, is it?"

A single sentence echoed through Eragon's mind, bearing Arya's voice: _I forbid you to bless anyone ever again if these are the results. _Then the elven ambassador spun on her heel, marching into the depths of her ancestral home.

"She cares deeply for you," Elva whispered as they continued. "But alas, her thoughts are shielded by an impregnable fortress. It will take some time to breech and discover-"

"You'll do no such thing," he demanded, furious. "Leave Arya alone, or I'll-"

"You'll what, spank me?" she tittered. Then she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "My punishment shall be eagerly anticipated, Garrowsson."

Would his stomach ever be at ease with her around to so effortlessly churn its bile? He doubted it.

~~~~~~~~~~  
_To Be Continued..._

* * *

NOTE: I'm glad people liked it; I wasn't sure anybody would care about an Elva fic, but the more I read over my first chapter I started thinking about what else I could do with it, so here we go. To be totally honest, I'm still reading Eldest and haven't touched Brisingr, so you gotta throw out anything you know from later on. Yeah I know, I should just have waited until I finished the books to write this but I felt the "bug" and had to get started right away! Besides I'm a really slow reader, so if I did that you'd probably never see this.


	3. Housepest

_Violets and Violence_ - Chapter Three: Housepest  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Are you sure you don't want to join me?_

Eragon folded his arms across his chest. _Stay out of my head._

_You could block my conversation if you but had the will. So then, we must ask ourselves-_

_I want to be open to your cry for help when you start drowning, _he retorted scathingly. Even through the floor and walls, he could hear Elva's joyous cackle. _Aren't you finished yet?_

_As if I have the faintest inkling of how long this takes. I've never bathed before, remember?_

_But surely you've _been_ bathed by others!  
_

Her tone was somewhat less chipper as she replied, _It has been some time. And I don't believe this washer-woman is capable – she insists on scrubbing places that surely mustn't be scrubbed with such ferocity! Am I a gemstone to be polished?_

_I'm sure Orik would rather you were. _Eragon leaned back from the scroll he was bent over with a sigh. Apparently he would not be advancing any further in his studies so long as Elva felt it necessary to needle him with her relentless commentary.

_She's only trying to be polite, _Saphira told him. _In her way. _They had begun to heighten their vigilance against Elva's unnaturally-subtle probing and were therefore more comfortable speaking with each other again.

_I thought you liked her even less than I._

_Even so,_ she grumbled. _But I can admit that she is at least making the effort._

Eragon smirked. _Are you beginning to grow fond of her?_

_She has a certain forthrightness that a dragon can appreciate._

_Enough talking about me behind my back, _Elva interrupted. _I can still tell you're doing it, even if you're obscuring the details._

_Grasping at straws? _Eragon accused; he felt a flash of embarrassment before she covered, and it was his turn to laugh.

_Ridicule me at your leisure. My trial by immersion has reached its end, and not a minute too soon. You may come out of hiding now, Sir Eragon the Bashful._

Sighing once more, he furled the scroll and placed it with the others before descending the staircase from his study. There, standing just outside the wash closet was a cheery-looking elf... and a distinctly less-cheery Elva, wearing a crisp new green-and-brown tunic made for a young man which fit her like a short dress, and white leggings more suited to her stature. Though she was barefoot, he spied a new pair of slippers nearby, ready for when she ventured out of doors.

"Beautiful," he said, clapping his hands. "Bravo!"

"Sadist," she snapped at him, folding her arms and glowering from beneath a grease-free curtain of black strands. "How dare you enjoy my misery? I feel... raw, as if I'll freeze!"

"You get used to it," he laughed as he crossed to place a hand upon the top of her head. When she clawed at it with a feral snarl and he jerked away, the woman who had bathed her gasped in dismay, but made no further comment. "Now, now, none of that."

"Begone, servant." Bowing, the woman gathered up the grubby sack that had served as Elva's clothing and retreated from the treetop apartment.

"That was uncalled for," he admonished, frowning. "You need to work on your decorum."

"You need to work on a lot, Shadeslayer. Do not point out the crow in your neighbor's fields and overlook the Urgal in your own."

His brow knitted as he squatted to observe this bizarre waif on her level. Now that the layer of dirt had been removed, he found that she might have a cherubic face... if not for the unsettling glow of both her violet irises and the gedwëy ignasia mislocated upon her brow.

With relaxed ease, she raised her hand and traced a single finger down the side of his cheek. "Now then... we have things we must tend. Pertaining to... you and I..."

Eragon slapped her hand away, and she giggled. "What manner of demon _are_ you?"

"Leaping to conclusions doesn't become you, my Eragon. I meant about our powers."

"Powers? What do you mean, ours?"

"Mine, then." Eragon was so startled when she raised both arms in the air that he couldn't ascertain her meaning. Suddenly it struck him that she wanted to be picked up; such a normal gesture from the abnormal child. Revolted by the prospect, he did so, and she cooed contentedly for a moment. "To the study – or would you like to retire to your bed?"

"Study it is."

Mocking him and his discomfort at holding her, she lay her head upon his shoulder as he trudged up the stairs. The moment he reached his desk, however, he dropped her like a sack of potatoes onto a corner, where she struggled to retain her balance. "Really, was that at all necessary?"

"It was," he growled.

"Hmph." As she began idly swinging her legs, she said, "Prior to your intervention, I had a lone power with a twofold usage; I sensed impending doom and saw into minds and hearts of others. Your _blessing_-" which she said as if it were a dwarvish curse "-compelled me to make use of the knowledge to lessen the suffering I came into contact with. Feeling your remorse for my plight was the most directly painful; it demanded I ease your troubles with overwhelming temerity. Otherwise-"

"Let's not dwell on 'otherwise'," he bade her, already queasy thinking on it. "Continue."

"Yes. These were my only abilities, and I had little control of those in the first place. With great difficulty, I could overcome some of the urges to help, forcing myself to... _pay the price,_ if you'd rather. So I did; I tried my best to divert my resources to the good of the Varden, with debatable progress... but not enough. Especially since, before I shifted my physical form a few years into my _own_ future, I could tell no one and alter nothing of theirs.

"But now that you have removed the curse, now that I can fully sense what is open to me via Sapihra's mark, I find I can enter and leave the minds of men at will rather than being dragged inside, powerless to stop it. Also, it becomes easier for me to hone my advance, to choose what _type _of information I'm after and locate it, obtain it. On the downside..."

"There's a downside?" he said softly, and she flashed him a thankful-yet-weary smile.

"I have noticed a new... difficulty in sensing catastrophic events before they transpire. Flashes still come to me, but without the deluge of the fates of all Alagaësia, I have a harder time picking up on them. On the upside..." She paused, but Eragon did not interrupt again so she continued in an even quieter voice, "On the upside, I can sense farther ahead. It takes severe concentration, and it must be someone I know as more than a passing acquaintance, but... instead of mere hours, I can now stretch days ahead at a time, perhaps even weeks."

"Really?" he asked, fascinated. "But so far as I knew, divining the future is an ability that comes and goes, and usually gets you a few vague details for your trouble."

"You've been chatting with Angela too often," she muttered; Eragon tried to suppress his shock at hearing the herbalist's name, but Elva smiled at him. "We move in the same circles, you and I."

"Indeed," he answered in a strained voice.

"No... I have studied Angela's ability and her ideals long and hard, to be sure. Because I saw something of my own in her. But what she uncovers are ghostly snippets of one person's entire future, while I glean a stark, unmistakable image of only the dark things, the agonies of life, and nothing from further down the road. Such as right now..."

"Hmm?"

"Stay away from Arya when you are not feeling yourself," she told him in a rush, voice rasping as it dropped an octave; she sounded just enough like the Ra'zac that Eragon's lip curled. "I... something about the event is blocking me from viewing it more clearly, I'm used to having a better picture than this. It may be that it will not yet transpire for some time. But you would do well to heed the hazy warning."

"Please stop that," he muttered, trying to keep his thoughts from lingering upon Arya lest she use this against him. "I... I think I'd rather not know."

"A great misery will befall you if you ignore it, Shadeslayer. Not something mortally perilous... but an equal source of grief. If you should ever realize you are out of sorts, that your outlook has been temporarily skewed, give the vixen a wide berth."

"Must you call her that?" he lamented tiredly.

"I must," she said, closer to her usual tone. "If I am too kind to my rival, what chance have I of winning your favors?"

Then Eragon dropped his face into his hands, which delighted her.

_** -0-0-0-0-0-**_

An hour or so later, Elva was brought a large cushion to bed down upon, like that of a dog kept as a pet. She immediately made to sleep in Eragon's bed, but he extracted her and briskly carried her back to the cushion, which was in the dining room, as far away from his room as he could place her. If he'd thought the idea might be met with anything less than blatant refusal, he'd have suggested the bathing hollow. While she did not make to enter he and Saphira's bedchamber again, he found himself continually thwarting her mental encroachments until dropping off to dreams of purple-eyed Urgals.

When the small wooden device woke him in the morning, he had already wound it and replaced it by his bedside when he felt the small, warm mass nestled upon his chest. Raising the sheet, he found Elva snoring soundly.

_Blast this bull-headed girl!_ he shouted mentally, waking Saphira without intending to do so.

_Must you? _she yawned.

_Look! _Without waiting for her to turn her head, he whipped the covers aside, revealing the source of his frustration. _Am I but the mother cat tending its kitten? I'm too young to raise offspring, whether or not they actually belong to me!_

_Don't grouse so noisily at such an early hour,_ she snapped, arching her back as she stood. _I'm going off into the woods to hunt. Cuddle with the hatchling all you like._

With his mind, he formed a picture of a rude gesture and sent it in Saphira's direction. She turned and snorted a cloud of smoke at him before taking off through the gaping hole in the side of his quarters.

Frowning, he poked Elva in the small of her back. Nothing. He shook her gently, then more firmly. It seemed she could not be roused. When he pinched her nose shut, she squirmed, then opened her mouth and let out a tiny squeak... but the moment he let go, she nodded sleepily and settled herself once more against him.

_Barzûl knurlar!_ A thrill of glee took him as he envisioned simply pushing her negligible weight to the floor, but even as he reached a hand toward her head he found it impossible. After what his blessing had put her through, and in light of her age, how could he? With a sigh of surrender, he slowly slid himself from beneath her and lowered her to the mattress; she never stirred.

_I do recall her mentioning to the queen that her ability caused her difficulty sleeping,_ he reflected as he began his morning ablutions. _Perhaps this is the first chance at a decent night's rest she's had since her birth._

He was standing beside the wash hollow and banishing his beard with magic when he felt a pinching sensation upon his backside. Slowly, full of disbelief, he turned to see a pink-cheeked Elva looking up at him, eyes wide and innocent.

"Morning, Shadeslayer. How did you sleep?"

"Keep your hands to yourself."

He looked on as her first two fingers formed a pair of tiny legs, which she allowed to walk up his thigh to his hip. As they rounded the bend, Eragon caught her wrist and held it out of reach, still refusing to turn around to face her directly. "Back the way you came, Elva."

"Aww..."

It was almost convincing enough to fool him into thinking she'd become a normal girl, but he knew how astronomical the odds of that were at present. "Go."

"But I thought you and I might give this 'bath' nonsense another try," she said with a guarded grin.

"I'll let Saphira bathe you instead if you don't get out of here," he warned. "And remember: she has claws. How would you like _those_ scrubbing you?"

Elva scowled and stomped out of the wash closet.

_By the gods, I think she's discovered her favorite game,_ he lamented as he dressed quickly – before she burst in on him again.

"Drat," she said when she saw he was covered, snapping her fingers. "Too quick for me, Shur'tugal."

"Yes. Shall we?"

_** -0-0-0-0-0-**_

Elva watched with detached interest as he sparred with Vanir, and frowned disapprovingly when he was felled by Durza's old wound. This was an especially strenuous day; despite his best efforts to forge ahead through the crimson pain that assailed him, it was a hopeless quest.

"You disappoint your audience, Argetlam." Vanir grinned as he made a show, dancing his blade left and right as he waited for his opponent to again stand.

"There is no audience. There is only you, I, and this fight." But no matter his courageous words, he was bested over and over, sent clattering against the earth. When at last his hour was up, he hobbled over to his diminutive friend, one fist pressed into the small of his back. They waited side by side for Saphira to join them along the edge of the training field.

"Pitiful," she remarked.

"Enough, Elva. Do you expect me to welcome your insults after I've already been made a mockery?"

"Actually, I meant it's pitiful that nothing can be done about that hindrance," she told him quietly, nodding toward his back. "Remember, I can still _voluntarily_ sense misery, and yours is great. I..."

He waited a moment, then prompted, "What is it?"

"I've been intentionally poking a wounded animal with a stick," she said with grim amusement. "As I'm sure you noticed. It was fun, especially to repay you for the agony I've suffered these past months. But now I am acutely aware that I was not the only one carrying a debilitating burden."

"Then you apologize?"

"Hardly," she sneered. "But I'm willing to concede that yours has not been a charmed life, Shadeslayer. We are broken beings. Can you not see we are fated to be together?"

Again, Eragon had to force down his breakfast. "Elva, you cannot-"

"A jest," she tittered. "But not entirely... or is it? Hmm..."

Then Saphira was arriving to transport them to where Oromis and Glaedr awaited, and he had no time to spend chastising the pint-sized wastrel.

~~~~~~~~~~  
_To Be Continued..._

* * *

NOTE TIME: Thanks to the reviewer who was nice enough not to spoil Brisingr for me! Yeah, I'm feeling it out and I think I know how I want to finish this thing up but that won't be for another chapter or two. We'll see how deep the rabbit hole goes.


	4. Shadeheart

_Violets and Violence_ - Chapter Four: Shadeheart  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours passed in relative silence as Eragon moved through his studies, first enjoying the constance and fluidity of the Rimgar and then a brief – very brief – mock battle with Oromis, merely to ensure that his morning spats opposite Vanir had been keeping his swordsmanship at top form. His affliction only acted up once during the duel, and he was relieved that it didn't grow any worse.

Next came his meditation in the forest, from which he gleaned little but relished it all the same. He was truly grateful for the isolation and quietude; it allowed him to release the tension that his disfigurement had bred within him. By the time his hour was up, he felt refreshed and calm.

All through this, and during his practicing of magic immediately following, Elva observed in silence, as did Arya and Orik from nearby. Taking care not to allow too much of his attention to wander from his apprenticeship, he observed their interactions out of the corner of his eye. Arya mostly ignored her, and he attributed the occasional annoyed look on Elva's face to this – and perhaps the fact that Arya possessed one of the most impenetrable minds on Alagaësia, which meant less entertainment value for the youngster. Orik, on the other hand, displayed visible unease; he most certainly shared his opinion of Elva as being disturbing, crude, and often playfully vindictive. Every few minutes, he would shift slightly to one side in the direction opposite the girl, pulling at his beard.

"Shiningbrow, if you would join us?" Elva did as Oromis bade her, staring at her slippered feet as they shuffled along the ground. "Good. Eragon-finiarel, how would you suggest we proceed with her training in the ways of gramarye?"

"Me?" he gulped. When no one spoke again, he thought on it. "A pebble?"

"Hmm," the elf said with a smile. "As dependable a start as any."

Shrugging to himself, Eragon strode briskly to a nearby stream and plucked a smooth, flat stone no bigger than the tip of his pinky and returned. He glanced at his master for approval, then held the tiny object out to his tiny charge. "Here."

"It's not even my birthday," she said in bored tones as she accepted the pebble. "What is this meant for?"

"Try lifting it with your mind," he instructed, reflecting on Brom's words to him so many long months prior. "In the ancient language, you'll say-"

"Stenr reisa." When he blinked, she snickered. "You're neglecting your mental barricades. Ebrithil, are you sure you want me learning from this neophyte?"

"You will if you wish to learn anything at all," Oromis snapped. "And in future, you shall also address Eragon as Ebrithil, or Master."

"I'll do nothing of the sort." Without warning, she found herself on the flat of her back, staring up at the tip of Oromis's boot. _"What treachery is-!"_

"Words of wisdom before fools are like pearls before swine. You try my patience, child. Shall we continue to endure your incessant sourness, or shall we enlighten ourselves?"

"I apologize, Ebrithil," she whispered, browbeaten and dejected.

"We know not if even you _can_ learn other forms of magic," Oromis continued as he stepped away, and Elva scrambled to her feet. "Therefore, the more you delay, the less time we'll be able to devote to discerning whether or not this is an exercise in futility. Eragon?"

Startled at being addressed again, he bent near her and looked into her eyes. There he beheld skepticism and dread; she did not believe she could do anything more than she had already demonstrated, and hated the idea of failing under the watchful eyes of not one, but four observers. Therefore, despite her outbursts, his voice was gentle when he said, "Focus is key. Letting anything else distract from the task at hand will only make the task seem more burdensome, which causes it to be so. Clear your mind, focus... and push through to the magic within."

"This is absurd." But she tried anyway. Hours passed with no results, and as she continued he moved on past his own magical tests and began transcribing words in the ancient language within the hut. At long last, when the hour grew late and it was nearing the time when Saphira would return with Glaedr, he heard a shout from outside.

Oromis and Eragon entered the yard to find Elva goggling downward, panting. When they neared, Eragon spied the stone she had been training with in the dirt. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"_It moved!"_

Eragon hid a smile by coughing. "Did it, now?"

"Don't act so superior," she bit out at him. "Can you not see how terrified I am of this? I caused a stone to take to the air with nothing more than the power of _thought!"_

"She did at that," Orik grunted, stomping over. "Saw it myself. Beginner's magic to be sure, but it was plain as the beard on my face."

"Wonderful," Oromis announced, a pleasant but not overly-shocked look upon his fair features. "Then we shall continue her instruction in this fashion. Every day henceforth shall she train alongside us, mastering the basics while Eragon furthers his own studies. Perhaps by the time his road is at its end, she will have acquired a rudimentary grasp of magics and their applications."

"Congratulations, Argetbrun," Arya told her, stiffly but not without some cheer.

"Silver Brow?" Eragon shot Elva a warning look, but she merely blinked at him. Meanwhile, he noticed Arya scowling in the background, irritated both at Elva and at herself for allowing her defenses to lapse. "It was only on the surface; I didn't have to delve any further to translate the term."

"Methinks _this_ stone is cracked," Orik grumbled under his breath as he turned away.

Before she could form a retort, the dragons appeared in the sky, slowly descending upon the crags. As per usual, Eragon and Saphira were both quizzed by their masters about what their partner had learned, and they answered with casual ease; their connection was now solid enough that they had hardly to strain at all to share in each other's experiences. Just before Eragon and Elva mounted the smaller dragon, Oromis tossed the pebble toward them; Eragon caught it reflexively.

"As you wish, Ebrithil." Oromis inclined his head, and then they were away.

"So what am I missing?" Elva asked over the rush of wind in their ears. "Because I can feel you guarding your minds against me, so I'm reduced to asking silly questions."

"Oromis wants me to make sure you keep practicing throughout the evening, much as Brom did with me. This early on, constant practice of a simple spell will be more beneficial than intense instruction followed by periods of rest. You're going to lift this rock over and over until it's as easy as breathing."

"Why?" she whimpered.

"Because. And aren't we forgetting something?"

At first, she only blinked, then turned in the saddle to glare at him. "Oh, no. A thousand times, no – you haven't a prayer of holding me to it. All the gold in Urû'baen wouldn't be enough to make m- _AAH!"_

Saphira's sudden dive seemed to negate her protests. Once they had leveled out, a windswept Elva stuttered, "Y-yes, Master."

_That's more disturbing than her open disrespect,_ Saphira observed.

_I agree... but it was Oromis's decree, and as I am still his student I would be lacking in my own duties if I let her get away with lacking in hers._

"Stop that whispering behind my back!"

"Really riles you, doesn't it?" he laughed. She refused to speak with him for the remainder of the trip home.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

It took the better part of the evening before Elva could maintain her spell with enough force to keep the pebble from quivering, and then only for an instant before it fell back to her hand. More often than not, she jerked away as it fell, frightened that she had done spellwork and thus wary of letting the enchanted object touch her. This left her winded, surly and cantankerous.

"I don't want any dinner."

"But it's been freshly baked," he insisted, holding a loaf of bread in front of her face. "Mmm..."

"I'll inform you of what you may do with that loaf," she began ominously.

"Come now, I know you feel exhausted. Practicing magic for a new user is like swimming across the seas. Eat, it will bolster your strength."

"I do _not_ feel exhausted," she lied. "You forget I've been using magic since I was an infant, O _Blesser._ This is but a trifle."

"A trifle you worked all evening on?"

"Very well, _Master._" She snatched the bread from him, tore off a chunk too large for her mouth and chewed, allowing large crumbs to spill everywhere. From behind this, she grinned broadly and waggled her eyebrows, as if demanding he find fault with her table manners. Therefore, he didn't.

"Good, it's settled; finish eating and leave the tray by the door. They'll whisk it away when they bring us our morning meal."

"Whg-" In a rush, she gulped down the bread, choked for a moment before washing it down with spring water, then asked, "Wait, where the devil are _you_ off to?"

"Evening stroll. You, however, will stay here and persist with your stone."

"But you're supposed to keep an eye on me at all times," she said incredulously. "How shall you do that if I'm all alone?"

"I trust you'll survive," he told her drily.

Elva frowned at him, dropping the loaf on the table. "I grow weary of toying with rocks. Why should I even learn magic to begin with? The solitary skill I've already perfected is the only one of interest to me. What use have I for lifting pebbles or creating spheres of water?"

"You betray your immaturity," he whispered, and she blanched. Changing tactics, she flung herself into his lap.

"I can think of a dozen better ways to spend this night, Shadeslayer."

"Think on them all you like," he grunted as he lifted her and placed her back into her seat. "As long as you're thinking _while_ practicing."

"You overbearing, arrogant _boor!"_ But in the end, she did as she was told.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Days passed, and the commencement of the Agaetí Blödhren neared. Eragon dreaded this date with all his heart, for he knew Arya would be departing for the Varden camp upon its completion. His time to lessen the gaping expanse between them drew short.

Luckily for he – and for the epic poem he was drafting for the festivities – Elva proved herself confounded by the pebble. The time came when it no longer wobbled in the air and lifted instantly, but she could not maintain her spell for more than a few seconds. She would become frustrated to the point of tears and retreat into the dining room, sprawling upon her sleeping cushion.

One such eve, Eragon joined her, after looking over his poem yet again and correcting a few grammatical errors he'd encountered. She started at his arrival, then turned away. "Leave me."

"Aren't you forgetting-"

"I forget nothing!" After a few tense moments of silence, she sniffled, "I can't do this."

"Can't do what, Shiningbrow?"

"I'll start calling you Master if you call me Shiningbrow – and I know how much you hate it, which is why I've only bothered in the presence of others."

"How did you know I hate- nevermind, it's too obvious an answer." She tensed when his hand graced her back, then gripped the cushion tighter. "What is it?"

"The magic escapes me." A choked sob slipped out before she was able to master herself. "I have been overtaxing my abilities, and for what? A dry well of energy, and naught to show for it. I'm no sorceress, no wizard... nothing. I'm nothing."

"You aren't." When she laughed harshly, he went on, "Elva, you have more power open to you in your first year of life than most do until their very deaths. Do not spit upon what you've been given."

"But you're so certain I can push beyond my boundaries and flourish under your supervision. This is not the case; no matter who is or isn't watching, I fail."

"I'm certain of nothing," he admitted weakly, rubbing her back gently as she wept. "Only that you'll surely fail if you don't so much as _try._ Perhaps you'll never be a mighty magician, but don't you want to find out what you are and aren't capable of?"

"No."

"Come now..."

For a long while the room was silent. Then, with startling speed, she had him pinned to the floor by his shoulders, her pearly tears falling onto his face. He braced for another uncouth remark or a wandering hand he would need to roust, but instead her face scrunched in upon itself.

"Eragon... d-do you... do you think I'm beautiful?"

His brow knitted. "Sorry?"

"Answer." When his jaw set and he made to throw her off, displeased that she was up to her old harassments after all, she shook her head hurriedly. "N-no, I- please, I'm trying sincerity for a change of pace. Truth: am I a horror to look upon?"

"Elva-"

"Answer me!" When he didn't, she pounded her fists into his shoulders and bit her lip, then whispered, "The stares I weather... everyone thinks I'm diseased, a scourge walking in their midst. Who the devil cares? Their opinions mean less to me than those of earthworms. But yours..."

When he reached a hand up to yank her into his chest, she did not resist, and continued sobbing once she'd landed. "Hush now. You mustn't think like that, allright? Just... don't worry about them. There isn't anything wrong with you."

"Liar."

"Okay, perhaps there _are_ things about you that are... unusual." Here she laughed at him wetly. "But what of them? I am the only free Rider, and Saphira the only dragon with less than several centuries of experience under her belt. Oromis is The Cripple Who Is Whole, a man who commanded great power than has been severed at his core. We are all of us different."

"But you aren't _UGLY!"_ she shouted through his tunic and into his very bones. "My brow shines, my poisonous eyes haunt, and my voice makes flesh crawl and stomachs undulate! I know! I know how they view me, Eragon, I am not so blinded – I have _felt _their disgust! They see me, and they see evil incarnate – a ruined vessel with a Shade's heart, stalking by them and readying to bring about the end of days! They hate me, as do I! It's all they could possibly do, _isn't it?"_

His arms ensnared her with crushing weight, and he dropped his chin upon her crown. "Shh," he said in a voice thick with empathy. "Do not speak of this anymore, I'll... I won't hear it. Not about one of my friends."

"Shut it!" she growled. "Since when have you counted me among your friends?"

He decided not to lie to her; that was worse than the truth. "Since now."

For a long while she cried, shrieking and shuddering and wringing out every drop of emotion she had left. Eragon could not help but shed a few tears of his own along the way. Her coughing fits alarmed him, and eventually the point came where she needed to be sick so he hurried her to the washing closet and held back her long raven locks while she ejected her supper. When she was through, he fetched her some cold water and she sipped at it, eyes sunken and cheeks stained with tears.

"Are you going to be allright now?"

She flashed him a tired, lopsided smile. "I'm more than used to it, believe you me." A few seconds later, "Thank you. I didn't... I was overcome. It won't happen again, Master."

"Listen, Elva-"

"You _are_ my Master," she insisted. "Because of tonight, when you shepherded your student, did not allow her to go astray and lose herself in misery. I readily accept this apprenticeship now, and apologize for my earlier resistance."

"Stop being so formal about it," he told her uncomfortably; no matter how long it had been since Oromis proclaimed him in charge of her magical education, he still was unable to get used to being anything other than a student himself. "Just... do what I tell you, as far as magic is concerned. At all other times, we can be as we were."

A quick nod, and she took another long draught. "Then may I ask a question, Master?"

"Anything."

"Does it always take this long to get a pebble to float?"

He grinned at her. "It does, and then it doesn't. Would you... welcome a journeyman Rider's opinion?"

"Anything to get over this impasse," she groaned quietly.

"You've been holding yourself back. From what I've seen, I think you're afraid of achieving anything that might mean you must achieve more; of becoming a worthy magician rather than a waif who loses her luncheon when others are near to danger. It's all you've known so far, and straying from it... well, it's a bit like I felt leaving Carvahall, wandering with Brom. When I finally made peace with the fact that it had to be done, the trail became less taxing and more exciting."

"Pretty words," she said, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Are they true?"

"I expect so," he told her in the ancient language, and she pursed her lips, so he continued in her tongue, "All."

A tiny nod as she stood, placing the cup on the table. "Then tonight... I shall try once more with my stone. And every night from now until time stops, I'll struggle until I achieve something more satisfactory for you, my Ebrithil."

For the first time, he felt color rising in his cheeks when talking with Elva without the accompanying nausea. "Ah, p-please, Eragon will do. When not in Oromis's presence, that is."

The corners of her eyes crinkled, but she did not further taunt him. "As you wish, Master," she breathed before retrieving her stone and settling herself upon the floor, staring at it with spectacular concentration. There she stayed late into the night.

_~~~~~  
To Be Continued_

* * *

NOTE TIME: Today I finally finished Eldest, which means reviewers can let those Book Two spoilers fly free – starting Brisingr soon and I can't wait. I'm lucky enough to have a job that lets me read about 50 pages per shift while on the clock (it's a really boring job so without a book I'd go crazy)! It's about the only time I get to read too, so I'm grateful for that even if it doesn't pay much.


	5. Variance

ALERT: It's about to get extremely weird... you _have_ been warned.

* * *

_Violets and Violence_ - Chapter Five: Variance  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At long last, the hour had arrived; the Blood-Oath Celebration was at hand. Elves had flocked to Ellesméra from all over Du Weldenvarden, bearing contributions of arts and science and magic all. Eragon and Saphira were to be the guests of honor, and Orik and Elva to also receive special attentions as visitors. As Eragon soon learned, something about this displeased the short-statured magician.

"I'm not going."

"Yes you are," he insisted as he adjusted his best tunic. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you and I! To see the wonders of the elves, to bear witness to this gala that most humans will never even know of?"

"I don't care," she snapped. "It holds no interest for me."

He eyed her suspiciously as she kicked at her slippers, delaying in putting them on. "You haven't come up with anything to present during the Celebration, have you?"

"Of _course_ not!" she burst out. "I'm of middling talents, and have no marketable trade! What on earth would I do, show them how high I can lift that accursed stone? I'd rather die than be made a fool of."

"You aren't required to present," he reminded her. "No children are; it's understood that they haven't developed the skills or knowledge to make anything worthy yet."

"I am not a child."

"You are."

"I'm _NOT!" _Instantly, she was facing him, fists vibrating at her sides. "Perhaps those two brainless lumps of fat Dusan and Alanna are too untested to create anything, but I should rise above them – because I _am _above them! Why shouldn't I be able to come up with something, _anything_ that would at least be mildly amusing to the crowds? But no, of course not; I'm an utter disappointment."

"_You are a child," _he insisted firmly, meeting her gaze dagger for dagger. "Yes, unusual, yes, far more learned than the two elf children or any others your age on this continent, but you have still seen so very little of the world with your own eyes, still have so far to go in nurturing your talents! It would be cruel for them to expect anything of you during the Agaetí Blödhren at this point."

For a long moment Elva glowered at him. Then she whispered, "Very well, _Master."_

"Elva..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Don't be cross with me over this."

"_Master_ is always right," she mocked him as she at last stuffed her feet into the slippers. "Why ever question _Master?"_

"Enough."

She shook her head, turning away; the dark energy of resentment and aggravation poured off her in waves. "You still don't see me. Not really... not with clear eyes." And then she threw herself down the trap door to descend the stairs on her own.

_She's growing impatient with herself._

_It is so,_ Saphira answered from where she was stretching out her wings. _It saddens me to see Shiningbrow so forlorn – especially when she just began using her small rocks to attack stationary targets. She's acquiescing rapidly to the magic after your talking-to._

_She still thinks she should be leagues ahead, no matter how many times I tell her there's no shortcuts._

_The youngling is used to shortcuts,_ she reminded him. _It took her mere weeks to advance several years; she started her life with the power and wisdom of sages. Doing things in the natural fashion is a new and unwelcome challenge._

Eragon sighed as he heaved himself onto Saphira's back. _You're right, of course. I just thought she had learned a greater lesson when she realized slow, steady education would succeed where high expectations would only serve to frustrate and dishearten. But here we are, back at the start._

_She'll come around, sooner or later._

_I hope so,_ he finished as they leapt from the bedroom's gaping maw and landed heavily upon the ground. Arya and Orik were already waiting for him, and Elva stood a few feet behind them, refusing to look him in the eye. Perhaps he was sensing that she was ashamed of her flare of indignation, but he couldn't be entirely sure; her mind was closed and locked to him, as was his to her. The group walked through the forest in relative silence, speaking in one-word questions and answers.

Exiting the dense wood, they beheld the enormous, ancient Menoa Tree and pressed themselves into the throngs gathered around. While he was talking with Rhunön, Elva vanished from his side and he knew not where she might have gone. Perhaps it was just as well; she was angry with him and could use the time to lick her wounds.

When at last midnight came, Queen Islanzadí gathered the light from the glowing lanterns into a single brilliant orb, and Arya informed him that this meant the celebration had begun in earnest, as it would until the light extinguished itself. Songs were sung, food and drink devoured, and merriment pursued with unrestrained zest and joy. Between the libations and the thrum of the enchanting music, both of which were laced through with gramarye, Eragon lost himself in the revelry, conversing with total strangers as if old friends, dancing more than his legs ever had in all his years. Soon the thread of time was lost to him, and the memories would not take root in his mind...

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Eragon stirred. Where was he? The world moved rhythmically, and he thought himself upon a raft, sailing toward Hedarth. How had he come to be there? Hadn't they already left Hedarth long ago?

They had. Slowly, his training under Osthato Chetowä returned to him, and the Agaetí Blödhren: he had recited his poem to the elves and they had received it warmly, and he had also beheld Saphira's awe-inspiring statuework that she had kept hidden even from him. Elf maidens pursued him, he pursued them playfully, not caring which he caught or didn't catch. The caretakers of the ancient spirit of the dragons then danced and sang, and he was told...

"Shh," bade a melodic voice. "Becalm yourself, Shur'tugal. Rest is your only duty."

He looked up to see a curtain of glittering black hair and long, tapered ears. Arya? No... it was not she who he most hoped it to be, but another elf-maid, one who had sung with him and admired his gedwëy ignasia so openly. Many had; he could not recall their names, nor the names of the numerous males who asked to hear his stories of adventure first-hand or offered him a drink. All people were as one body during the celebration.

"My... my back..."

"Shh." Suddenly, he saw beyond her and into the carved ceiling of his treetop abode; she had carried him home. But no, he did not wish it! He wished to exalt, to writhe within the currents of magic flowing around the Menoa Tree. Would he miss out on the remainder of the centennial event?

"Thank you," he murmured as she laid him upon his bed. It was true that he felt exhausted, but equally so that he was filled with wanton desires – there had been a change within him, and he felt stronger and more vital than ever before. His very bones cried out for life. Meanwhile, the stranger's kindness touched him, and he suddenly yearned to know everything about this woman. "What be your name?"

But she merely shook her head. In the half-light, he saw she was wearing a decorative headband that drew her hair back from her eyes, and yet he could not see into them. Her silken blue robes were of the finest make, and opened at the top to reveal elegant neck, alabaster shoulders... they clung to each and every curve, falling nearly to the floor where they stopped inches above her bare feet. She was a vision – and perhaps she truly was, at that. A manifestation of his passions that would dissipate with the dawn. His heart became emboldened. "Shall you keep it secret, O one who aided me?"

"I shall." Then she pressed her slender index finger to his mouth as her own drifted to touch the lobe of his ear. "Rest, warrior. The time will soon come when you are needed."

"Rest with me." When his hands grasped her arms, easily encircling them, she did not fight against his grip, nor pull away when he drew her down upon him. His lips snared hers, tasting and drawing them in, and she responded in kind and with great fervor, though without advancing; not once did she make a move to hasten their actions. He was left to take the lead... so lead he did. A flash of curiosity came to him from Saphira, many leagues away, but he blocked her out entirely. It was none of her concern. The last word either of them spoke flowed from between the elf-maid's teeth as his hands passed over her smooth, toned back:

"_Eragon..."_

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

The next memory he saw sharply was of himself, waking in the night. His bed was empty; the woman had left him. Only briefly did he have time to reflect that such may be the nature of the Blood-Oath Celebration before Saphira was worming her way into his head, radiating such alarm that he was forced to answer her queries before tackling his own.

_I am confused, _he said once she was reassured. _How did I come to be here?_

_One of the elf-maids promised to bear you homeward after my ancestors struck you low with their might. Orik expressed some concern as to whether or not she was capable on her own... until she lifted you as if your body were made of straw,_ she noted with no small amount of mirth.

Eragon's heart fluttered; she_ was _real, not merely an imagining within his fevered head_.__ They are renowned for their physical feats. Know you... her name?_

_I do not, _she told him – and there was definite suspicion within her tone. _May I ask why it is of importance?_

_It isn't, _he said at once. _Merely... I wanted to thank her. That's all._

_If I see her again and recognize her, I shall pass along your thanks._

_No, I... it should be in person. That's only polite._

Now she was laughing at him, and he felt his face flush; the likelihood that she hadn't guessed at his true intentions waned with every passing second. _Such a gentleman. Very well; I'll tell her you seek her with great purpose._

_Thank you._

_Now look in the mirror, little one._

Nothing could have prepared Eragon for the jarring shock he received when he did so. He was an elf! Or not truly so; he was distinctly more elven, but not quite one of them. Pointed ears, gently-angled face, fair, unmarked skin... and the pain was gone! He'd grown so used to the lingering ache his wound left behind that he felt light as a feather now it had been banished. He leapt and twisted in the air, relishing the physical exertion that he could now enjoy unencumbered. To be free of Durza's wrath!

_The spirits of the dragons have given me the greatest gift I could ever receive, _he glowed as he divested himself of his usual clothes and dressed in such finery that he typically felt guilty even looking at it. Tonight was a night to rejoice and indulge; he would look a prince, for he felt one.

Halfway across the vestibule on his way out, he noticed something odd, something that brought a tear of laughter to his eye. "Oh, Elva." The girl was sprawled across the small table in the corner, a bottle clutched in her hand and rasps coming from her throat. "What simpleton would give mead to one who can scarcely walk?"

Gingerly, he picked her up and carried her into the dining room. As he lay her upon her makeshift bed, her eyes fluttered open and she muttered, "Hmn? Whaz... Eragon?"

"Aye?"

"Eragon, can that be _you?"_ Now she was fully awake, gaping with wonder at his changed appearance. Her fingertips played across the taper of one ear, testing to see if it were real. "What on earth has happened? Who has... _what_ has done this?"

"The ancients have smiled upon me," he told her with a smile. "I've been given their blessing."

"As they have to me!" she laughed, sitting upright. "This truly is cause for- wait." He watched with amusement as she glanced down at her hands, at her legs, and a pained grimace obliterated her previous joy. "No, _gods_ no! Oh... oh, but it was a wondrous dream – I had hoped I would wake and find it to be more than a subconscious fancy. Foolish of me."

"I'm afraid I don't follow. What did you dream?"

"I was also changed," she said with a touch of chagrin, scratching at her nose. "An elf-maid with long, shapely legs, and I stood several feet taller. As I have made such a transformation within myself in the past, albeit accidentally, I thought perhaps because of my training with magic that I had done it again..."

Something niggled in the back of his mind. "In this dream... were you garbed in a flowing blue robe?"

"I was. And you were attacked by spectral beings, and I carried y- carried you back to..."

The horror he felt creeping into his heart was reflected in her expression. "Elva..."

"Shadeslayer, do not make jests now," she hissed at him warningly, scooting back upon her cushion, distancing herself. "Say that you overheard me speaking while I slept, or that you are peeking into my mind with the magics! Say anything but that we..."

Silence reigned for an eternal moment. Then, an instant after their widened eyes met, Eragon fled from the room and purged his stomach into the wash hollow. Several minutes had passed before he became aware of her presence at the entrance to the room.

"Get away from me."

"Master..."

"_Get away!" _ Swiping at his mouth, he ran the water and splashed it into his face, and found he felt no better for it. "Back, you evil, foul- what on earth have you done?"

At last, he looked up to see great, glistening tears on her cheeks. "I know not what I did."

"Oh, really? Perhaps you did what you set out to accomplish from the very beginning."

Her mouth dropped open. "Do not distort it like that. My... this isn't-"

"Just leave me in peace, you _witch!"_

Elva dropped to her knees, arms clutching at her stomach. "I... I feel ill..."

"No you don't!" he accused. "I daresay triumph rises within your breast, for you have won at this game, Shiningbrow! Well, no more. Not ever again!"

"I didn't mean a word of it!" she protested weakly. "My advances were all but a silly diversion, and merely that. I... Eragon, you must believe my words now, for I couldn't stand to have you-"

"I wanted to find you and thank you." His teeth gritted. "Or _her._ The elf-maid who was so kind to me, who gave of herself and shared this night with a lonely Rider. But she does not exist."

Her performance was of the highest caliber; she trembled and sniffed, head swinging from side to side as she sobbed, "I never meant it... all those times, it was but a game... I didn't... this is not what I wanted!"

"Give me a single reason to believe you."

"You want one?" she growled through her sorrow. "You cannot trust my word? So be it! Then prize open my head and _look for yourself!"_

"I shall!" And he forced his consciousness into hers, knocking aside walls of memories, searching out the wrongdoing she had committed...

And was quickly overwhelmed by darkness. Everything he encountered was of blackest night, racking pain and agony, and it ranged from mundane worries to paralyzing fears. Soon he was drowning inside hatred and mistrust and sadness and regret – and all of them belonged to others. They blew as gales, howling around corners and buffeting him in their wake, tearing at him, clawing with gnarled hands...

Stumbling through the void, he finally found what he had been seeking; memories of himself, of Eragon the Rider and Shadeslayer. While vast stores were devoted to her resentment of his role in her mishandled upbringing, as much glowed with a fondness and affection he had not expected. What did this mean? Did she truly care for him? He'd been certain that toleration and a grudging respect were the best he could have hoped for from the tiny sorceress. He searched for any evidence that she was fabricating the feelings merely to support her claims, but found none; his magic, further augmented by his new innate ability as a changed Rider, left no margin for error. These were her honest feelings laid bare, and they said that she in fact did love him. But the love was pure and simplified, not the putrid distortion of love he had thought he might find if it existed, based on her salacious advances. She regarded him highly indeed.

And then he saw the memories of this night. Much like his own, they were hazy and scattered, and when he at last saw them together in his chambers it grew dim to as a shadow. She didn't remember any more than he did – and as he watched, as he examined her feelings at the time, he understood that she had relinquished control of herself to the ebb and flow of the influences that the Agaetí Blödhren brought with it. Elva had even less mastery of herself than he during the incident. Entirely blameless.

He turned, dismayed and spent of willpower, and glimpsed a sight that staggered him. There was an image of small Elva waking up when she was sleeping on his chest and smiling to herself, contented. In the eternal midnight all around him, it shone with such blinding intensity that he had to look away. Instinct told him without question that this was most assuredly her fondest memory of all.

Then a knot of vicious tendrils encircled him, propelling him backward at blistering speed... and he was within himself again. Instinctively, he tried to return to her mind but found it closed, iron gates around every inch of it.

"You had no right to see that," she told him in low, dangerous tones.

"Elva, I'm sorry, but I-"

"That was not for your eyes!" she repeated, half-crazed as she stood above his kneeling form. "Y-you... I cannot abide this, Shadeslayer, I _won't!_ You don't get to thieve that from me and live to tell the tale!"

She leapt at him, and he caught her in midair; his reaction had been reflex, but his new body and its capabilities made it all too easy to snatch her up and hold her aloft. Snarling, her fingernails swiped at his arms, his face, and her legs kicked at whatever they could reach. Glancing, harmless blows rained down on him, and through it all she screamed, screamed louder than he'd ever heard a child scream; his freshly-heightened sense of hearing made it exponentially more painful.

"Elva, stop this!"

"_NO! NO, YOU CAN'T HAVE THAT MEMORY!"_

"_Vindr blöthr!"_

Instantly, her face grew slack, her eyes widened. Her hands pulled at her throat, and in a strangled voice she said, "Eragon... y... you c-can't... please..."

"You'll be allright," he promised distractedly, watching as she slowly faded from consciousness. When she hung limp in his hands, he ended the spell, and she began breathing slowly again. Shaking all over, he carried her back to her cushion and deposited her there, staring down at the frail form.

_I curse the elves and their abominable saturnalia,_ he thought furiously. _Look what it has done! I... I must get away. Away from this, away from what happened..._

So away he strode to rejoin the elves, tearing at his hair and wondering what new, odious consequences the next day might bring.

~~~~~~  
_To Be Continued_

* * *

NOTE TIME: Told you it would get weird! But yeah, I knew this was pretty much the only way Eragon/Elva could ever work without being a little _too_ wrong and kind of had it in mind from the start. Sorry if you think I crossed a line, but to each his own or whatever. Two more chapters to go!


	6. Dichotomy

_Violets and Violence_ - Chapter Six: Dichotomy  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eragon scarcely got out of bed anymore. It had been days since the celebration had ended, and still he would not be roused, not by Saphira or Oromis, or even Orik when the dwarf dared visit and made hearty efforts to goad him into leaving the chambers. All he wanted was to be left alone.

Arya was gone. Like an imbecile, he had run to her; to drive himself away from the unholy event that he was unwilling to accept he'd chased after her with renewed fervor, professing his love as a bard singing below a maiden's window. Her rebuffing of his advances was a lot kinder than he deserved, he knew now – now that his mind was his own again. Nonetheless, she dropped the guillotine on any chances he had of winning her over. That was that.

_Elva did warn me, _he thought bitterly. _I wasn't myself; that was her prophecy. But I've never been any good at listening when my heart is in play, have I?_

Elva. There was another matter entirely.

She had come to see him no less than twelve times since that night. She paused by the doorway, did not enter, did not speak. He bore her presence as long as he could endure before he used magic to gently push her back from the entrance, whereupon she often let out a blast of sobbing and ran away. They exchanged no words, and made no move to communicate mentally.

_Broken. We really are broken beings now, Elva – we've even broken each other._

The worst part was that sleep evaded him. Try as he might, he could not slumber. At long last he understood why, and why he'd never caught any other elf sleeping; they had no need of it. To be robbed of the chance to escape his reality for eight hours at a time saddened him so greatly that he tried forcing it upon himself with magic... but only succeeded in feeling more tired, yet conscious. His half-awake state in which he remained aware of all around him still brought dreams, and horrific dreams indeed; they haunted him during the waking hours, as well.

_If only the elf-maid were real,_ he lamented helplessly. _This would be such an easier trial if she were her own being, and not... not a twisted reflection of someone else._

Saphira grew ever more concerned, but he hid the truth from her at every turn. He knew he ought not do so, that they were as one and must be open and honest, but how could he admit what had escaped his ability to prevent? This sickening misdeed was the work of the most vile of despots, and here he found himself blameworthy of it, even if he was no more responsible than she. It was a thing to be ashamed of and keep buried.

At long last, though, Saphira told him mentally, _I see now why you have been so distraught._

_What? But how can you?_

_Elva told me; when she couldn't gain audience with you, a moment of desperation brought her to my ear. _When she felt the wave of nausea over their connection, her tone became yet gentler. _Oh, little one... why does blackest misfortune always seem to befall you?_

_There's no going back from this,_ he seethed. _What I've done... what we did, it is the worst of crimes. Why do you not tear out my throat?_

_Because you were deceived, Eragon. Deceived by the magic; both of you were. Strange things happen during this elven festival, as we have discovered._

He stared at his wrist where a very old scar had once existed, wiped away forevermore. _Aye._

_Go to her. Only by talking can you mend your tattered wings and fly together once more._

Eragon frowned, but then pushed himself from his mattress, shaking his head. _Dragon metaphors._

_They are effective, are they not?_

_Aye, that they are._

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

"Who's there?"

Eragon sighed heavily. "It's me, Eragon."

"Eragon who?"

"Oh, come off it."

"Well, you've been going to great lengths to pretend you don't know me," Elva told him flatly as she continued to stare at the dining room wall and away from him. "Turnabout is fair play, Shadeslayer."

When he reached a point halfway along the table, she sprang to her feet and whirled to glare at him – and he saw she had not been taking care of herself. Her tunic and leggings were dark with filth and stains from meals, and her hair lank and greasy. The bottoms of her feet were black as they had been when they met.

"Listen well, _Master,_ for this is only going to be said once. That night was not of my doing, and because you _intruded_ upon my mind you know that with more certainty than anyone ever may. You'll never hear me apologize for it."

"Aye."

"Aye?" She folded her arms, still breathing hard through flared nostrils. "Then you've decided to believe me now? Is that what you've been doing for the past age, secluded in your cave?"

"It is," he half-laughed, smile disappearing as soon as it had appeared. "Elva, I realize now that neither of us can apologize. We were not at fault, we... oh, but the compulsion to blame myself remains, and so strong! How could this have happened?"

"Too much faelnirv," she supplied with a grunt as she pulled out one of the chairs, climbed into it and then climbed from there onto the tabletop, where she sat cross-legged. This put them on something close to eye level.

"Most definitely," he agreed, placing a hand on the back of the nearest chair to him. "If I'm ever in Ellesméra during the Blood-Oath Celebration again, I'm sure I'll be fleeing in terror."

"Neither of us should be judged," she told him firmly, eyes wide and beseeching. "We were as two strangers, completely removed from foreign lands and brought together for one night. A dream, a story from a lost age. Why would I blame you for what is beyond us? I never once tried to."

"How can you not? How can you... but then again, you're used to heartache and misery," he realized with a start, thinking back to the imposing darkness to be found at every turn within her mind. "I've just added yet more."

"Hush, Shadeslayer. Do you really think me that petty?" When he raised an eyebrow she nodded and said, "Yes, I suppose I have been about _some _things, but not this. Would you like to know what I've decided?" She frowned at the table. "I've decided to cherish the memory."

That caught him entirely by surprise. "I beg your _pardon?"_

"So little of it comes back to me," she admitted as tears began to cut through the grime on her cheeks. "But what I do remember is warm, and delicate and shines as if spun from gold. We held each other, we were happy, and... and all the rest has been swept away, never to return. Don't you see? The parts I _do_ remember are beautiful. Maybe there's a reason for that."

He was silent for a moment after she finished, appreciating what she meant. But he could not feel the way she did – not so soon afterward. "We still committed an act most heinous, Elva. I'm not sure how to live with myself for it."

"Oh, Eragon," she breathed in a pleading tone. "How could it have been so heinous... if it was you?"

Slowly, he paced toward her, and he could see her visibly tensing; she worried that she would be punished, or worse. His thumb and forefinger gripped her chin, drew her face up to stare into his, and her breath caught in her throat, violet eyes wide as dinner plates as she waited for whatever he was going to do.

Then he smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead, directly in the center of her silver mark. "There. Now I've kissed you in a way that is dignified. And we'll speak of that eve never again."

"You ask too much," she whispered, shivering. "Never? I doubt I can so easily banish-"

"Then let us _try,_" he insisted, pulling her to her feet. "And we shall begin this healing process by bathing you, you're an utter mess."

"We?" she asked, a surge of crimson filling her entire face. "Eragon, after what has just transpired-"

"I meant I would send for the elf-maid," he laughed. "Unless you think you can handle it by yourself?"

She pursed her lips. "No, I cannot. But then again, I don't want the elf-maid to help me... so yes, it must be your hands and no one else's."

His eyelid twitched of its own accord. "Elva-"

"Too soon?" she laughed. "Forgive me – thought you must admit having me around is advancing your proficiency in dealing with women, if only a tad. But... would you think me so awful if I said I really did prefer you to bathe me? You are typically gentle and kind, while she was... _thorough._"

"Ah," he said with a wince. "Well, I'm afraid you'll just have to endure it. Though you have my sympathies."

"What might those do for my rubbed-raw crevices?" she grumbled, and he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

In the end, the elf-maid was asked to watch as Elva attempted to cleanse her own form. The more the woman pointed out parts she was missing, the more scathing her tone became until Elva questioned her parentage. At that point, Eragon entered the room and glared down at her, and she was so embarrassed to be seen by him that she became abundantly more compliant for the remainder of her ablutions.

"You didn't have to do that," she snapped at him afterward in the vestibule, dressed in leggings and a tunic more her size; it seemed the elven seamstresses had thought to create a more extensive wardrobe for their diminutive guest. "I was getting along perfectly fine without you, you... seeing me in all of my shame!"

"_What _shame? There's so little of you to begin with that you can't feel a great wealth of it."

She shut her mouth after that as he used a towel to buff her head, hoping to avoid the ague befalling her due to her hair remaining wet overlong. Just about the moment he finished, she whispered, "I'd like to show you something."

"I've seen enough for one day," he jested, and she slapped him on the bicep. "Ow! Watch it or you'll bruise yourself on my dense Rider muscles."

"Don't gloat, Shadeslayer. We can't all be transformed overnight into preternatural beings. Not permanently," she added to herself in an undertone. When he merely looked at her expectantly, she cleared her throat and said, "I'm going to let you into my mind. You will be guided to a precise location. Go there, and go nowhere else. Understand?"

"Aye. And I am sorry that last time I encountered more than you would have-"

"Yes, yes," she dismissed, though she cast her eyes downward. "Get along with it before I decide against this."

Nodding, he reached within for the magic needed and cast his mind outward. Upon finding hers open to him, he nudged inside with great care, hoping to make up for his violence the previous time because of his anger toward her alleged indiscretion. He sensed her appreciation for his delicacy all around him as he delved further in.

Walls of iron surrounded him, the self-same ones that had guarded him last time. Now, however, they formed a long hallway with doors at every turn, all locked tight. Curious, he paused and pressed a hand against one, and felt dull echoes of crippling agony behind it.

_Nowhere else,_ came her stern echo. He proceeded down the path, feeling a prickling of guilt for having tarried against her wishes.

At long last, he came to a large, circular room; it was unadorned and functional, and the ceiling overhead was shrouded in fog. There, in the center, he beheld two beings of distinctly opposite origins: the first one was squat and hideous, something akin to what he imagined an Urgal child might resemble without its horns. The other was far removed from this: a tall, slender, comely woman in transparent, gossamer robes that ill covered her form. A touch of discomposure assailed him at viewing her. Averting his eyes, he posed a question: _What is this?_

_They are me._

Eragon wondered at her proclamation, then began to understand, if in some small way. Unsure and not wishing to leap to any conclusions, he asked what she meant by it.

_What I am, and what I wish to be. Can you not tell? You've already encountered one form, and quite recently – though I know not how the elven magics brought her forth into reality, any more than I know how I was transported to your side in the forest. She misses you, Shur'tugal..._

As Elva's anxious words faded, he scrutinized the more appealing form: it was indeed the elf-maid he'd spent the final eve of the Agaetí Blödhren with, save for the rounded ears and the lack of modesty. The bandanna now gone, he observed the faint silvery mark that had been hiding beneath it. Her eyebrows were also shaped in the more familiar arch of the humans he had spent his youth among, and her eyes held not the poisonous shade the Elva he was more familiar with endured, but a subdued amethyst.

_She is lovely – as will you be, when you become her someday. Take it to heart._

_Thank you,_ she told him, and he heard the quaver in her tones. She didn't believe it but appreciated his sentiment.

_But the other... it does not belong here. It is not you._

_It is. This is how I am, and how many perceive me: a malformed, festering blight._

And so it was. It sniveled on the ground, crouched low and glowering at him – it had pure violet orbs with no pupils or corneas. The dragon's mark upon its brow was larger, brighter, composed of cruder lines that made it look more threatening. Forcing himself to stare at it was a bothersome chore, and he wished to leave.

But he couldn't. Even as he stared at it, he found it less and less offensive. Perhaps it wasn't visually pleasing, but there were hints of his friend in its form. Slowly, he approached, and the beast recoiled from him, whimpering and raising its knobbly hands to cover its face.

_Hush,_ he bade as he placed a hand on its shoulder. _There's nothing to fear from me. I'm just Eragon._

_You aren't, _came the voice from his head, not from the strange abomination. _You're so much more... you'll never know what you've done for me, will you?_

_Show me._

_I haven't the stomach to flay open my heart in such a manner, _she told him helplessly. _It would reduce me to a puddle of despair. Still, bear in mind that you are the _only_ being on this earth that I could let come this close to who I really am._

He smiled, then wrapped the anathema in the arms of his astral self. _This isn't you. If I knew a way to convince you of this, I would use it readily. Even if it were... I care not. You remain my friend._

For an eternity, this is how things remained. The beast-Elva reached trembling hands up and touched his shoulders, the lightest touch. Then he found himself being ejected from her mind and placed back into his own.

"Why?" he asked aloud, startled.

"It was time for you to go," she wept openly. Eragon waited patiently for her to speak again. "How did you come to be such a saint?"

"Raised properly," he muttered, abashed.

"To be sure." Then she sprang from her seat on the edge of the small table and was caught in midair by him; her arms squeezed him as tightly as her pitiful muscles allowed. "Are you certain that you do not feel your gorge rising when you touch me?"

"I did, before," he admitted quietly as he supported her slight weight.

"And now?"

He shrugged, grinning to himself. "Just a quick flash of annoyance."

"Progress is progress, however slight," she laughed into his shoulder.

"Aye."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Once Elva was slumbering peacefully upon her Elva-sized pillow, Eragon made to return to his chambers but found himself descending the staircase to the forest floor instead. A long, long walk brought him back to the clearing where he'd met Elva for the first time.

The poor orphan acted as if exceedingly fond of him, and they'd scarcely met. It was off-putting, but in a way it made perfect sense: she had so little, no family, friends, possessions... no one and nothing. From the sound of things, Eragon had been the first person to do something besides worship her from afar due to her unique powers, or revile her for her bizarre appearance and behavior. Anyone in her position would leap at the chance to cement a lifelong friendship with someone who showed the slightest hint that they might respond in kind. Yet he had done the bare minimum for her since she came; resented her, ordered her around, poked fun. Surely he could display to her in some small way that she was appreciated...

"What on earth am I doing here?" he muttered to himself, turning in a slow circle. Even now, he did not know. It was probably down to no more than her plight weighing heavily on his mind.

"Figured I'd ask you the same thing," said a gruff voice from the shadows. Eragon instinctively reached for Zar'roc before he realized it was back in his quarters.

"Who's there?"

"Just me," said Orik as he stumbled from the shadows, flagon of mead in hand. Eragon relaxed, feeling foolish for being caught on his own, unarmed and unawares. "Been out for a walk under the stars. Had to get outta that elf city for a while, and away from all those stuffed shirts!"

"Ah. Well, don't sneak up on me like that."

"M' apologies, Argetlam," he slurred. "So... you still all moon-eyed about our Miss Arya? Knew she meant the world to ya, but..."

"No," he said, allowing the simplest explanation for his moping stand rather than incriminate himself with the truth. "No, I think I'm ready to put the terrible memories of the Blood-Oath Celebration in the past now."

"Wise man," Orik said with a grin as he took a long swig.

"Orik..." He debated a moment, then said slowly, purposefully, "My foster brother... I have a question, but I ask that you not become overly interested."

"Well, that was the quickest way to ensure I'd be overly interested," the dwarf laughed at him, slapping his knee. "But go ahead, m' lips are sealed."

"This isn't about Arya, so you know."

"Which means it is."

Eragon grimaced, but forged ahead. "Hypothetically... let's say you had this, ah... _friend._ This friend and yourself had got off to a... rocky start. Lots of fighting, cursing, mistakes were made... ones you can't take back. More recently, you and your friend have come to an understanding, and you're trying to leave the past in the past – but you're worried that you haven't done enough to make it clear that their friendship is important."

"Hmm," he said, pulling at his beard as he thought. "A right stumper. Who is it?"

"Orik!"

His eyes brimmed with tears of mirth. "Just a bit of fun. Fine, then, keep your trifling secrets. So what's the question?"

"What would you do? To prove to them how valuable they are, as a comrade or friend."

"If you're waiting for me to compose you a love poem, forget about it," he chortled. "You _sure_ this isn't about Arya?"

"Very." He heaved a great sigh. "On that front, I'm afraid no amount of advice from you or anyone else would be enough."

"Oeí, Brother. I'll drink to that." And he did, for several seconds. Letting out a foul belch, he scratched his chin. "Well... you know, a gift never hurt."

"What sort of gift?"

He waved a hand about in the air, and the gesture threatened to topple him. "Any sort. Depends. What have they the greatest need for? I mean, let's say you happened to overhear that this friend just misplaced their best axe. That'd make it easy."

"Ah..." Eragon nodded; it wasn't a bad idea, if extremely vague. "There's a thought. But I don't think an axe would be of much use."

"How about a nice jug of that elven mead? It packs a wallop, it does!"

Now Eragon frowned, remembering Elva's assertion that faelnirv had been partly to blame for the solecism of that eve. "Highly inappropriate, in this case."

"Search me, then," Orik shrugged. "But as an adopted member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, my first instinct would always be a weapon or armor. You knew that, though."

"Yes," Eragon said slowly, a smile stealing across his features. "Not armor, not an axe... but I do believe you've given me the very notion. Come, Brother – let's pay someone a visit."

"At this hour?" Orik goggled as Eragon threw his arm around Orik's shoulders and began steering him between the trunks. "We'll likely wake whoever it is."

Eragon thought upon how he'd ceased to find sleep necessary. "That, I sincerely doubt."

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

NOTE TIME: Wow, this ended up a lot longer than I meant for it to. Guess I really got into the flow of it! But yeah don't worry, next chapter will be the end of it I think. Thanks for reading along and thanks for all your kind words people.


	7. Effigy

_Violets and Violence_ - Chapter Seven: Effigy  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When morning came at last, Eragon resumed his daily routine; he'd wallowed in self-pity long enough, and making amends with Elva had gone a step toward easing his grief over Arya. To be sure, he felt a dozen times heartier when, through benefit of his changed body and healed back, he and Zar'roc easily bested Vanir. Elva clapped aloud at this, and he couldn't help but give her a sweeping bow.

Oromis, too, was pleased to see him back to full form, and immediately pounced on the chance to test him far more strenuously than ever he had. Eragon was grateful for the challenge; the sooner he completed his studies, the sooner the Varden could be aided and Galbatorix brought to justice.

Meanwhile, Elva became increasingly adept at magic. Eragon's advice had positively assisted her in overcoming her greatest obstacle to furthering her education: fear. Moving pebbles had become simplicity itself. Now she was asked to heal minor self-inflicted cuts on Eragon's arm; this way, if she took too long without being able to accomplish the spell, Eragon could simply heal himself with no real harm done. Once she was successful, she sat in the corner of Oromis's garden with a broken shard of pottery, repeatedly cutting herself and closing the tiny wound, laughing with delight. Eventually, both Eragon and his master bade her stop, for the sight was too ghastly.

"Finally, something _useful,_" she told him in an undertone as they retired to his treehouse upon Saphira's back. "I was beginning to think I'd be doing pointless things with stones for the rest of my life."

"You can hunt with those stones, you know," he reprimanded her.

"Yes, Master," she sighed. "But how often are children asked to go out and slay herds of wild game?"

"As often as they can actually manage it." She shrugged in response.

Following a light repast, he and Elva sat down in the study and pored over a stack of scrolls; technically, this was not part of her own education – yet – but Oromis's youngest pupil aimed to overachieve. She adapted to the runes much faster than he had, and when he asked about this her response began with a snort of derision.

"Please, Shadeslayer," she said haughtily. "As often as I've been swimming inside the heads of scholars? I know those glyphs inside and out."

"Then what does this one say?" he demanded.

"It is a dwarf recipe for stew made from the meat of deer, with sundry vegetables and herbs. Uncut gemstones are added to the bottom of the pot to lend it an 'earthier' flavor." Then she cocked an eyebrow at him. "You might want to close your mind next time you ask me a question, but I swear to you I read from the _scroll_ and not the surface of your thoughts."

Eragon grunted, forcibly shunting her out. Now he had become quick enough at this to actually catch her before she could escape, and her little shiver of shock when he mentally slapped her encroaching tendril brought a smile to his lips.

"_Barzul, _but that smarts!" she yelped, massaging her temples. "Sometimes I miss the days when I was undetectable, even if it resulted in relinquishing my supper."

"I have wondered about that," he said as he rolled up the recipe and picked up another spell compendium. "I'm well aware of how the magic works when _I _enter another's consciousness, but how did it work for you in those days?"

"It didn't." When he looked up at her expectantly, she sneered. "Eragon, you cast a blessing that _forced _me into their thoughts. Perhaps I escaped the attentions of those whose sorrows I viewed, but neither was I in control. Bear with me if you will, and envision being stoned in the village square. The boulders keep coming; oftentimes, you can catch one and throw it back, saving yourself a bit of pain... but by and large they bruise your skin and bloody your clothes until you die a most ungracious death."

Eragon grimaced. "Hmm. I did feel a bit of what you felt when I... that night," he finished simply.

"That night, indeed," she said, her tone distant and uncertain. Then she shook herself, as if coming out of a long slumber. "You should accept my apology now, for this is the only time it will be issued: I'm sorry I was so unkind as to allow you full access to my memories. They are... putrid and loathsome. Perhaps you deserved a taste of my bitter pill, being that it was your fault to begin with, but such was not my intention."

"All is forgiven." She inclined her head slightly, and he flashed a tight smile. "And by the same token, I'm sorry I was so reckless in examining you for signs of treachery. Equally..."

"Come on, don't be shy," she teased.

"Equally, I am ashamed that I felt compelled to do so. I should have trusted you."

She stared at him for a long moment, until he began to shift under her luminescent purple gaze. "You are right to remain suspicious, Rider. I am quite dangerous."

"Yes, you are," he conceded, rubbing his upper arms to rid himself of the chill he felt on the air. "But you're also a friend, and I disregarded that. It is a shameful thing when a man allows himself to be swept away by ale and song and forgets his manners... and loyalties."

"Garrow's teachings rear their ugly heads," Elva mocked, waiting until Eragon frowned at her to laugh. "But sound teachings they are; simple and straightforward, but honest. Purely from what I have gleaned within your brain, I have come to respect him."

"_Gah! _ Can you not keep yourself out of there? It is as flies are drawn to honey!"

Elva grinned, illuminating her face. "Oh, darling Eragon... it is your own misfortune that your mind is the sweetest and most tantalizing of them all."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

As she trained with the pebble – which was now a rock double the size of her fist – Eragon made his rounds, speaking with a few of the elves and stopping to share a small drink with Orik, though he dared not imbibe overly; he had newly sworn an oath to himself to limit his consumption of spirits so that he might never again awaken to find he had sullied some poor maiden's honor. He also set aside an hour or so to fly upon Saphira's back, granting them both a rare joy; their occasions to do so seemed few and far between, as during the days they were forced apart for their separate training sessions.

_What do you think of Elva?_ he asked her as they skimmed the very uppermost branches of the forest.

_She speaks her mind, and cares little for the trappings of society. These are traits a dragon can appreciate._

_Do you trust her?_

_I do not,_ Saphira answered immediately, surprising him. _I think even she would agree that relying upon her when we have scarcely known her for but a mouthful of days is stupidity. We can afford to be wary of each other at present, no more._

_That is how I have come to view the situation, as well. Everything I've seen and felt in regards to her, though... at first I would not have expected to think of her as anything but a liar and a swindler, no matter that it was my spell that shaped her in such a way, but after seeing her memories of us together in her mind... what harm could she ever want to befall someone she cares about so deeply?_

_Let us not get a swelled head, _she said, snapping her teeth at him over her shoulder. It was close enough to draw his attention without risking his safety. _What if, by you catching hold of those memories and her opinion of you, she becomes so outraged over the invasion of privacy that she arranges for your demise? Do not leave the nest unguarded, lest your hatchlings be lost._

_Aye, I believe I can unravel your meaning._ He was silent for a time as he studied the stars above, drank in the heady aroma of flora in the wind. _Still... I do _want_ to trust her, I think. If I thought I safely could, it would make me happy to do so._

_Then trust, little one, but do not confuse trust with recklessness; she has become a promising sorceress and shows every appearance of noble inclination. However, you cannot close both eyes while flying through this storm. That way lies naught but ruin._

Sadly, he could not disagree.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

When he returned, the treehouse was empty. Searching outward with his mind, he was shown an image of Elva laughing at him – which he at least took to mean she was allright, even if she didn't care to inform him of where she'd run off to. At every turn, she seemed to thrill in making light of his comparatively feeble mental prowess. Eragon found it infuriating.

Finally, just as he was contemplating storming out into the woods to forcibly drag her back to their abode, she sauntered up the stairwell, plopping a thin, flat package onto the small table in the atrium.

"What's that?"

"None of your business, worm," she snapped. When he only laughed at her, she sighed. "Hearing that from a child's lips would once have set your skin to crawling."

"It would have." As he inched closer, she kept one violet orb turned on him, burning gaze watching his every step. Then, just as his hand raised, she placed her own atop the package. "Aw..."

"Tut, tut, Shur'tugal."

Eragon placed both fists at his hips. "Must you be so secretive? Are you plotting the siege of Ellesméra and want to hide the plans?"

"Why, I do believe he's caught up at last," she said dryly. Then, as he leaned against the table, she growled, "Keep your nose out of it, you blatherskite, or else!"

"Very well. Will you at least disclose your whereabouts of the last hour?"

"Here, there, and everywhere... I took a dip in a small pond. It has a beautiful fall that gurgles just enough to keep it from turning green with plant life, and its waters are curiously warm. You ought to have joined me, it was really- oh, but that's right. You couldn't figure out where I was." Her lips pouted to such a degree that the insincerity was palpable. "Poor Eragon."

"Shielding yourself from my thoughts more or less guarantees you'll be alone."

Elva laughed long and loud, then picked up the package and skipped away to her cushion, still beleaguered by a fit of gales.

_What on earth might _that_ have been about? h_e asked himself idly as he readied for his state of waking rest. No answer came to him, though he had not expected one. _Very well; let her keep her trifling secrets. They are of no consequence._

Still, as he rested, he couldn't help but wonder at what she might be up to.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

The next morning, Eragon prized himself out of bed and scratched his face. As he felt for the alarm, however, his hand struck something larger that hadn't been there before. Frowning at it, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes... and then felt his breath halting in his throat.

It was a painting of he and Brom, standing against the glittering backdrop of Saphira's scales. No, that was incorrect – it was a _fairth,_ a magical picture of the world captured upon a slate for all time. But either way, it was lovely and detailed, and showcased a great deal of ability on the part of the artist. Brom was just as he'd looked when Eragon last saw him: smiling cheerily from behind his flowing beard in that way that clearly showed he was ever vigilant, even in times of revelry. His clothes were battered and worn like that of a traveler, and his ring still glinted on his finger. It was as if this image had been captured by the magician the very day that those thrice-damned Ra'zac...

A tear came to his eye, and he angrily swiped at it. It was almost more than he could bear to look upon Brom again, to see him hale and hearty and ready for the next adventure. The once-proud Rider and more-recent mentor would never again walk the land. He felt a sudden urge to dash it against the ground, much as Arya had done with his depiction of her... but found himself powerless to try. It was Brom, and it was a beautiful gift.

But who from?

Elva was lounging on her cushion and yawning when he approached her, and he reached out with his bare foot and pushed into her stomach, causing her to let out a strangled grunt. "What in the blazes–"

"Am I supposed to understand that this came from out of thin air?"

It took three seconds for Elva's face to sprout blotches of crimson. "Very well, you clever rogue, you've caught me in the act. Hand down a punishment that fits the crime but be quick about it; our lessons start soon."

"This." He brandished the fairth an inch from her nose. "You did this."

"Verily."

"And why?"

"Because I knew it would please you," she told him as if this was the most obvious answer to the most obvious question ever posed. When he was unmoved, she frowned and folded her arms over her thin chest. "Shadeslayer, you've been doing quite a bit for me of late: removing curses, helping me with magical instruction, teaching me to bathe... well, it's but a small trinket, but I thought you might enjoy it. You're quite the sentimental fool, aren't you?"

Eragon let out a slight cough of laughter. "How did you accomplish this? Did you speak with someone who knew Brom?"

"_I_ made it, you ignoramus."

"You... you did?" he asked, gaping at her. "But you haven't studied the art of making them y... ah. You stole the instructions directly from my head, which is also likely where you found a description of my former teacher. Efficient."

"It was," she admitted with a slight smile. She climbed up into a chair so she could stare at it with him, and he waited patiently for her to find stable footing. "It took four or five tries to render a passable likeness, but I'm moderately pleased. I apologize for you still looking a touch... _elvish, _but I'm starting to get so used to the refurbished Eragon that it slipped into my subconscious, even though I was actively trying to remember your face the way it appeared when we met."

"It's quite allright," he said with a slight amount of warmth. "The fact that it is Brom and I and Saphira, all together again, it is..."

"Eragon, dry it up," she bade him as his eyes began to mist over, but he could not. Elva's voice trembled slightly as she went on, "Eragon, come now, don't weep over such a trivial gift as mine."

"Brom... and you gave this..." Now he did clear his throat and closed the ducts of his eyes. Elva's tiny hand rested on his elbow and he gave it a pat with his free hand. "Thank you ever so much, you cannot begin to understand how much! I am in your debt."

"Nonsense." Elva passed a hand over her entire face, trying to camouflage her tears in this fashion. "Let us be moving along, shall we? I do not wish to endure any more of our master's punishments for tardiness."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Another day passed much the same as the previous ones, with Eragon rejoicing in the ease with which he could learn new abilities and practice his Rimgar, and Elva's magical prowess growing by leaps and bounds. By that evening, she could already shoot stones forth at blinding speed, create such a breathtaking fairth of Glaedr that even Oromis felt stirrings, heal small to moderate wounds, scry for the appallingly few things she'd seen, and cast one or two minor wards upon herself or others in dire emergency.

"Remember this moment," Oromis had told her as she lay panting and breathless on the ground. "Your gramarye is still young, and as such is feeble. That single ward dropped you to the barest reserves. Until you have trained harder, bolstered your magical might, it will be of no use to cast a magical barrier that leaves you physically vulnerable."

"Yes, Ebrithil," she croaked.

"Regardless," he conceded with a shadow of a smile, "I daresay you may become a formidable witch one day, Shiningbrow-elda."

"Yes, Ebrithil!" she said with more enthusiasm. Eragon felt Saphira's amusement at Elva's reaction to the scant praise through their connection.

They were now in his study, partaking of the evening meal of fruits and nuts and bread. Elva chewed with distaste. "I grow weary of this food fit for small vermin."

"As do I," he confessed. "But the elves do not partake of meat, and it's unlikely they'll ever change their stance merely to suit our palates."

"Could I use my pebbles to go out and hunt us some actual sustenance?"

He hid a smile. "Leave it. Perhaps tomorrow."

There reigned silence for a few minutes. Then, in such a low tone that Eragon would not have heard it before his hearing was improved by the dragons, she uttered, "There will be no tomorrow."

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"No," he urged, turning on her. "What do you mean, there will be no tomorrow?"

"I mean... damn you, Eragon, why did you have to overhear that? Those silly pointed ears of yours ensnare more than they ought."

"Come on, then," he demanded soberly, his food entirely forgotten. "What's going to happen tomorrow? Have you had a premonition? Surely Galbatorix isn't about to attack the elves, not after so long a stalemate!"

"No, no," she mollified him. "Nothing so immediately calamitous. Though..."

"Then what?"

She debated lying to him; he could see it in her glowing eyes. At long last she sighed, looking down at the floor. "Tomorrow... I will take my leave of Du Weldenvarden."

~~~~~  
_To Be Continued..._

* * *

NOTE TIME: Thanks to you guys who said you didn't want it to end! Based on your request I fleshed out the last chapter a little more and split it into two, but to be straight with you I can't think of a way to make it any longer than that. I mean, I probably could, but then it would be like watering it down instead of adding real content. So I'd rather make it the best 8 chapters I've ever written than 8 good chapters plus 3 or 4 crappy ones. And I'm sure you'd rather not read crappy chapters either! By the way, Magma Fyre, I did finally get to that part in Brisingr where Eragon removes the curse, and I'm glad I happened to write it differently so nobody thinks I copied it!

One more to go!


	8. SilverBonded

NOTE TIME: Okay, that's it, this is the final piece! To Magma Fyre, sorry about the cliffhanger but thanks for the praise; I went back and changed a "damn it" to a "barzul" in Ch.7 because I realized you had a point, haha. Also thanks to Obliterator1519 and my other reviewers for digging this story. Who knows, maybe this will inspire some other writers to break out their pens and take a stab at Eragon/Elva; it really is an underrated pairing, they totally belong together. Please favorite/rec this if you enjoyed it so we can spread the E-Squared love! Anyway, it's been fun and I hope you like how I bring it all to a close.

UPDATE [4/21]: There might be a sequel coming in the near future. If there is, it's going to be called "Violets and Virulence". Ask your local witch-child for her predictions!

* * *

_Violets and Violence_ - Chapter Eight: Silver-Bonded  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"_WHAT?"_

"Don't," Elva pleaded weakly, as if she'd already resigned herself to his protestations. "Don't inflate this into a greater ordeal than it must be."

"But... but you just got here," Eragon said in disbelief. "Where will you go? _How? _ You have yet to deduce how you transported yourself, so surely not in that fashion."

"I've arranged for one of the elves to ferry me to Surda," she confessed, the corner of her mouth turning upward. "Perhaps you know him, Narí? Quite a physical specimen, and _ooh,_ that hair..."

"Forget Narí. Where... why would you... I don't understand, why are you going?"

"Because I must, Eragon. Because I gave my word." Her face took on a hollow look as she whispered, "Because if I turn a blind eye, Nasuada will surely be killed."

This news silenced Eragon utterly. In the past days, he had all but entirely forgotten her ability to predict impending doom. Seconds passed as he weighed her proclamation. "Then I shall go, too. If Nasuada is in danger-"

"No, you will _not!" _she shouted, and he flinched at her sudden anger. "You will remain here and train with Oromis-Ebrithil! That is of more importance than I _or_ Nasuada, even combined!"

"But if she-"

"I will be more than capable of averting the danger without transferring it to myself," she told him firmly. "First of all, I have the foreknowledge. Atop this, I am now well-trained in a few simple spells that may be of use. I know when and where I must be to keep her alive, which means you _will_ stay in this forest and complete your apprenticeship. Is that clear?"

Eragon felt faint, and his mouth ran dry. Desperately, he popped a succulent berry into his mouth and chewed, allowing its juices to soothe his parched throat. "Aye. But... must it be this way? You back to the Varden, and I trapped here?"

"What of it?" When he only shrugged, a bleak smile appeared in her features before petering out. "Yes, Eragon. It must. Once there, it would be far too inconvenient for me to return to further my studies with our master – the master of my master," she added with a smirk. "So I shall remain with the Varden in the care of Nasuada and... Greta, the doting old thing... until such time as we meet again. I doubt if even then we could truly be reunited but for a brief moment or two, a smile and a nod."

"This... is distressing news."

The familiar derisive tone laced through her next words. "What, are you going to say you'll miss me? _Pah._ You sound like a simpering housewife. Really quite pathet-"

"Of course I'll miss you."

Her attempt to use humor to soften such a blow vanished with the baldness of his statement. "Eragon... stop that. You stop that this instant."

"Stop what?"

"Making it harder."

Only now did Eragon truly grasp the full scope of her announcement; she went forth to perform a duty, not by choice but out of obligation. This was the correct path, even if it happened to be the most difficult. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize. Be mindful, that is all."

"When will you..." So close he came to asking when she'd leave him that he smiled at himself; he was growing attached. It was unwise to grow attached to anyone other than your dragon when you're a Rider, a mistake he seemed to make over and over again. "When will Narí come for you?"

"At dawn."

"_Dawn?"_ Quickly, Eragon mastered himself, forced calm to settle over him. "So soon?"

Her eyes shone with unleaked moisture, but she held it back. "If I leave any later, I may be too late. I'm positive I'll have at least a full day before the preordained incident comes to pass if I leave in the morning. That gives me ample time to avert it."

"Very well. When Oromis's alarm sounds, I'll wake you and bid you farewell."

"Yes, I would be glad of a sendoff. Will you and Islanzadí make arrangements for the parade?"

Eragon shook his head. "Small One, you are quite the astounding creature."

Her cheeks began to glow with a mixture of bashfulness and pride. "I am, aren't I?"

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

The remainder of the evening was elapsed by Elva training with stones – now multiple – as Eragon wandered the city, and also bathing Elva for the last time. Eragon sat outside the wash closet, conversing with her at length about many things both light and dreary until she finished. Saphira added the odd comment from his room, and also criticized her inefficiency; she was loathe to pay closer attention to areas she had neglected, earning laughter from both dragon and Rider alike.

This being her final night in Ellesméra, Eragon relented and allowed her to move her cushion to the corner of his own quarters; there was no real reason to force her into seclusion anymore. Saphira hummed a quiet tune that lulled her off to sleep with great ease. Once she was no longer awake to listen, he confided in his partner that he would sorely miss her presence.

_I can understand,_ Saphira replied. _Much though you resisted, she has become something like an offspring to you._

He found it hard to decry her observation. _It is as you say. And in a strange way, she is, isn't she? I may not have sired her, but I'm responsible for the way she turned out. She's not such an awful child, all things considered._

_No. All things considered, she is a remarkable fosterling._

Eragon cast a look over at Elva's slumbering form. Awake, she carried an eternal hint of her fractured soul in every word and action. In sleep, at least, those pains deserted her, leaving behind a modicum of peace, however brief. He found himself grateful for that, even as he marveled at how she endured the daytime hours.

_Aye._

_**-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Dawn came far too early. When Oromis's device roused him from his dreamlike state, Eragon woke and disabled it – and, of course, found Elva sleeping atop him. He was exasperated, but it didn't surprise him in the least. Instead of railing against the circumstances, he decided to enjoy her nearness for a few moments. There was little harm in it, and they would have plenty of time to lament each other's absence soon enough.

_Such a small package to contain such an immense personality,_ he reflected, stroking her hair and staring over Saphira's back at the first pale rays of the morning. _Right now, she seems as a normal girl, asleep and safe from all those cares that plague her life. Oh, but if I could change the course of history so she might truly enjoy her youth!_

When he knew he could tarry no longer, he dressed quickly and buckled his belt, dreading the coming hour. It would be a mournful one.

Saphira was the one to nudge Elva with her snout, rousing the child. She grumbled and resisted, but eventually forced herself to her feet and made her way slowly to putting on her slippers. None of them spoke; it was as if a blanket of quietude had fallen, causing any speech to be a most arduous trial.

Alone, Eragon and Elva strode through the city. He had decided not to inform anyone other than Saphira of her departure until after it had occurred; it would save needless questions and refusals. The onerous task of explaining where she had gone would fall to him. He was sure that, once he'd detailed her reasons, none would question it further.

Soon they exited the city, and there were no elves in sight. She knew where Narí awaited her; it was a spot a half-league out. Eragon asked several times if Narí had packed sufficient provisions for the journey, and demanded she contact him with her mind once she was in his care and threatened to storm after her if she forgot.

"Do not torment yourself so," she grunted, chafing at his fretful demeanor. "I'm more than capable of flinging rocks at any predators that might think me a between-meal delicacy."

"You are _now,_" he said with a lighter air. "Before, if I had left you in that clearing, I doubt you would have fared too well."

"Even so," she giggled. "And here we must break our fellowship, Shadeslayer. Take care."

His newly-angled eyebrow hiked. "What, is that all? No parting words of wisdom, no barbs or uncouth comments?"

"None that are appropriate to the occasion." A crafty smile stole across her rosebud lips. "Unless you want to return to your comfortable mattress for a brief-"

"Fine, fine," he said dismissively. "Foolish of me to go _looking_ for peril."

"Peril, he names it!"

"There is one thing before you go," he said, reaching behind him. "A small token."

"I already have enough pebbles," she told him with a weary sigh.

"But you don't have one of these."

Both orchid-hued eyes widened as she glimpsed the tiny belt and the jeweled hilt protruding from a minuscule sheath. After glancing between both he and it a score of times, she reached uncertain hands out and found herself holding the treasure. "What manner of... oh, what have you done?"

"You said before that it wasn't your birthday when I gave you a stone," he said as she ran her hands along the handsome leatherwork. "But I haven't the faintest idea when that day _is,_ so I may as well give this to you as a gift for the road ahead. To repay you for the fairth, partly... though I'd already thought of it beforehand."

"Where did you- I mean, _how_ did you-"

"The leather was almost as difficult as the rest," he admitted. "Convincing elves to use animal hide is truly more trouble than it's worth. In the end, however, she relented because Orik provided it from some he already possessed."

"She?"

"Rhunön-elda, the smith. This is her work."

Slowly, with an air of great wonder, she drew the dagger from its sheath. As soon as it caught the early morning light, she uttered a cry of shock. "The blade – it's _violet!"_

"It is." He grinned to see her made so happy. "When I explained to her that this was a weapon for the dragonless Argetbrun, she felt compelled to give it all the attentions she once lavished on the Rider's blades. It will never dull nor rust. First I asked her to make you a proper sword, but she refused outright based on her vow – and I too had to admit it would be entirely useless to one of your size. We reached a compromise."

"Indeed," she laughed, brandishing it several times, testing its weight in her hand. "It is as if it were made for me... as if I were born with it at my side. This gorgeous stone in the pommel!"

"I'm glad you like it."

"I more than like it, Eragon." Now tears were sliding down her cheeks; she had been keeping them at bay through sheer resolve, but his present had impacted her so greatly that she could no longer deny her feelings at leaving. "Thank you. With all of my soul, thank you. I'll cherish this weapon as if Morgothal, the patron god of smiths himself, entrusted it to me."

"Just be sure you make use of it," he said, eschewing her gratitude as the tips of his ears burned. "I expect to see you again one day, you understand?"

Elva wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her hand, carefully pointing the blade away as she did so. "I do, with great clarity. You wish this blade to watch over me from afar."

"If friends cannot do even _that_ for each other, then what good are they?"

With hasty actions, she sheathed the weapon and slung the belt about her waist; it fit well and suited her. Her fingers played across the many additional notches that gave it room to grow along with her and smiled. "They are good for a great deal. Kneel, Garrowsson."

"I'm not truly the son of Garrow, you know," he protested quietly, but did as she asked. The moment he was on her level, she embraced him tightly, clawing at his back as she hiccuped. When she pulled back, her face was set, no longer full of despair; a display of courage. Eragon grinned at her despite the pain in his heart and said, "Watch over Nasuada... and yourself."

"Vel eïnradhin iet onr fricai," she swore to him in the ancient language. It was the surest way to convince him she would not fail, and he felt a measure of relief wash over him when he heard it. "My Master."

Eragon swallowed thickly, and pressed his hand against the side of her head. This time, when she leaned into it and closed her eyes, he was not disturbed by the action. "Gánga. We'll meet again soon."

"Sooner than you think," she breathed sadly; part of him wished to ask what she meant, but he could not bring himself to do so. "There is but one small matter, then – oh, _confound_ this useless body! I'll have to make other arrangements."

"What is..."

She was at the door of his mind, not sneaking but knocking formally. Confused as to why, he dropped his defenses – and found her elder form advancing on his inner embodiment, clad in the blue gown of the night of Agaetí Blödhren but bearing the more human features he'd seen in her mind. Unable to react quickly enough to stop her, her hands slid around the sides of his neck as her lips met his, pressing with the exact amount of force to make it known that she did this willingly: neither with reluctance nor recklessness. Dismayed though he was, he could not feign anger at her effrontery. It was a perfect kiss. Ghostly and insubstantial due to the manner in which it was delivered, perhaps, but no less angelic.

As quickly, his thoughts were alone again, and he was staring at Elva's tear-streaked face beside his hand. Neither of them had moved a hair's breadth on the mortal plane. Her violet eyes were wide and despondent as she stared off and to one side. "I... _can_ apologize for that, though I don't feel I should. However, I will if it has caused you undue stress."

"It has... and it hasn't." His voice quavered due to panic and uncertainty and regret and a myriad other emotions. "But I– please... why?"

Her bleary smile further shattered his heart. "Because it was the only way I could."

The staggering weight of what he was about to lose fell upon his shoulders, grinding into them, pressing the matter home: Elva and he were more alike than he'd have guessed. Both thrust into the mantle of adulthood long ahead of time, both linked by Saphira's mark, similarly outcast while carrying a grim destiny. Great things were expected of them, things that they would either have to accomplish... or die in the attempt. For ones such as they, few existed who could genuinely understand how their lots were cast and what it meant, if any. The far-seer was a kindred spirit – possibly the dearest one he might ever find in all of Alagaësia.

Furthermore, as he lightly caressed her silken black hair, something he had recently learned reached full bloom in his mind with jarring suddenness: Elva loved him, earnestly and without reservation. Deep though his affection for her had grown in the past days, hers ran yet deeper. Why, he couldn't say, or even precisely what that meant to either of them. These dual revelations rocked him to his core and threatened to send him careening into the depths of madness, but at the same time it showed him the folly of his own designs on Arya. He had been chasing after a woman who was scores of years older and could never in good conscience reciprocate. Elva had made a similar mistake in pursuing him. He vowed to himself that he would do what Arya had been trying to do for him and nourish the friendship without encouraging anything more. It was pitifully less than the girl deserved, but all he had to give.

"Elva Shiningbrow," he began in husky tones, pressing his gedwëy ignasia to her forehead and thus joining their marks. "You and I are forever silver-bonded. Always remember that you are to me as sister, daughter, and friend all at once; family, as Saphira is family. I'll never forget you, and never betray you. We are as one."

Lip trembling, she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, "We are." And there was a sudden flare of magic heating both of them, burning into the marks. Eragon flinched and tried to take his hand away, but it was stuck fast; light emanated from between palm and forehead, brilliant and terrible and all the colors of the rainbow. Then it was gone, and he was released.

"Gods... did you feel that, as well?" she demanded, chest heaving.

"Aye. What do you make of it?"

Her eyes slowly opened and she smiled. "Eragon... oh, _there_ you are."

Surprisingly, he no longer needed to ask; her meaning was brutally evident. The intimate connection of the minds he'd shared only with Saphira had swelled to include another.

"You- I don't understand. How is this possible?"

"It isn't," she replied in sober tones, though she was still smiling. "I'll have to think on this at great length to determine why we've been given this... _boon._ If that's what it is."

Eragon nodded slowly, staring away from her. "We swore an oath just now, I think. It wasn't even in the ancient language, so that wasn't my intention... but I suppose what's done is done. There's no sense crying over it."

"I won't if you won't," she laughed. Briefly fingering the hilt of her dagger, she whispered, "I must away, Eragon. Fate is a cruel mistress."

"I know." Hesitating for but a heartbeat, he bowed, twisted his hand over his breast and spoke unto her the full three ancient blessings the elves received from the dragons: "Atra esterní ono thelduin, mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr, un du evarínya ono varda."

Her fragile body shook as her composure wavered, but was quickly recovered. "Y-you can't- that is, you honor me above all others, my Ebrithil. That was a blessing I welcome for a change." Then she turned away, striding into the trees. She'd gone but a few paces before looking over her shoulder and declaring in a carrying whisper, "While my place may be with Lady Nasuada for the nonce... my heart eternally belongs with yours. Promise me you won't forget that."

"Impossible, Cursed-By-Blessing. Thoroughly impossible."

For an instant, as she smiled and again turned to depart, Eragon could see with his own eyes the woman she was destined to become, as if a wavering illusion superimposed over the reality. _Yes,_ he decided, _she truly _is_ a vision._ Then he blinked and there was only her miniature frame stalking through the underbrush, midnight tresses swishing to and fro. Two more blinks and even that was no more.

Allowing himself a shaky breath, he returned to his treetop chambers and bathed, then clothed himself again, all the while testing the strength of their altered connection. It grew weaker, but still it was there; he sensed her upon Narí's back, caught brief flashes of vegetation and wildlife speeding past. They were both shielding their stronger thoughts and feelings from each other, but once in a while he picked up a pang of sorrow so profound it halted him in whatever he was doing – and he suspected she felt a similar one when he made the mistake of resting his gaze upon her fairth as he dressed. Saphira wondered at that, but he ignored her questions; they could be addressed later.

At last, when he was on his way to do battle with Vanir, he felt his link to Elva flicker as if to gutter and vanish entirely; she was too far away by now to sustain it. In that moment, Eragon was blindsided by a single, urgent thought laced with such longing and desperation that a droplet was automatically loosed from his eye the moment it struck him:

_Don't forget your promises, Shadeslayer... and don't forget me._

~~~~~~  
_Du Letta_

_(the end)_


End file.
